The War of the 'Galin
by jdvesha
Summary: A story I was inspired to write based off An Odd Occurance by generaltommy. War has come to the land of Lore. Soon, the courage and valor of every man will be tested. And the land of Lore and all of its people will never be the same again.
1. Act 1: The Beginning

I wrote this story based off a story by "general-tommy" called _an odd occurrence_. My review of his story was harsh, but I stand by my words. I decided to use one of his characters as an anti-hero in deviating story. Please review, but also feel free to flame. For all you know, I may laugh hysterically at how stupid you sound.

"The Battle of Ebretman Hill"

_Chapter 1_

Chris stood on the ridge. He looked out down at the fields. At the trees, he could even see a village in the distance. It was sad that the following day would see these natural beauties bathed in blood. He pondered quietly, it was a rare moment for him, and he was calm, collected. He was thinking. It had been 4 months since he had been forced into this hell-hole. He knew that time had not changed on Earth since his departure, but he knew that only one force could get him home. The'Galin.

Why trust the 'Galin? Because Chris could not trust Matt. He did not trust him. He was forced by him to teach an army which he did not want to teach. Fortunately, Chris kept the best tricks in his head. And the next morning would bring his dreams to reality. To get out of here. He hardly cared for anyone in this land. Except…

He looked to his right. There they were, rehearsing for tomorrow. The'Galin's army. His army. 40,000 men strong, all trained to perfection. The greatest fighting force in all the land. In 4 months he had approached The'Galin and asked him for a chance to serve him in exchange for a ticket home. He found his chances would be better that way. Chris could match Matt in terms of strength and surpass him in courage, but he choose to let Matt think otherwise. He choose his moments in which he'd show strength and resolve. The'Galin was unimpressed with his physical attributes, he wanted someone with more meat on his bones. But during a skirmish gone array, he watched Chris take one platoon of soldiers, and outmaneuver and outthink a company of Guardians. As he learned more about Chris through his agents, he finally recruited him as a General.

Chris was reluctant, but he proved worthy. The'Galin's army before this point was weak, they weren't as tough as everyone claimed. Chris reorganized, restrategized, and reequipped the army. He knew every tactic in Matt's army, right down to the weapons that each man used. The'Galin had found himself pleased. Chris and The'Galin built a relationship, they actually trusted one another. Chris had suspicions from the start that The'Galin was manipulating him. But his suspicions were in question, and he found himself comfortable contacting The'Galin. The'Galin wanted someone to fight battles for him, to destroy the world of Lore, and humiliate her people for resisting him. Chris still had his eyes open for betrayal, but his thoughts no longer focused obsessively around self-preservation. He knew he'd be home soon after this day.

The situation was intense. For nearly 2 weeks, The'Galin's armies were being pursued by an army of nearly 65,000 Guardians. Chris's officers were impatient, they wanted to engage immediately. Chris had decided against it, he wanted to choose a battle that was a guaranteed victory, and he knew exactly how.

His moment of subtle peace was ruined. To his left stood Colonel Lonez.

Lonez spoke first. "The machines you requested we build are ready. And troops are ready at all positions. They are eager for tomorrow. I'm amazed that they actually like you."

Chris responded "They like me because they've been to war alongside me. They know that I care for their safety even in skirmishes, and that despite me being a harsh commander, everything I've taught them will bring victory."

Lonez looked out "Why can we not attack them directly? I don't understand why we must wait for them. Aren't our men the best? Can't we just fight them already?!? I have been more patient than the other colonels, but you're beginning to push me."

Chris responded, "Would you wait another few hours if it meant we would not face a pyrrhic victory? We are better off fighting from here."

Lonez was still skeptical "How do we even know they'll come here? How do we even know if they'll press the attack?"

Chris was ever confident "You know, I've actually reviewed some history regarding this. Do you know how they fight? They are barbarians. That's how they fight. And do you know why the civilized world conquered barbarians? Because barbarians only fight for themselves. They don't fight as a team; they go off on fight on their own. They don't work as units, they work as individuals. Matt, he's fighting for his own personal glory when he's in the field. He doesn't see the bigger picture. None of those barbarians do. So, when they come to face us, a united, organized army, they will go and fight like they always do. And they will fall one by one to our devices and soldiers."

Lonez let up slightly, noticing that there was some validity to his statement. "You think they'll perform a suicide attack?"

Chris responded "A few taunts and challenges will bring him to us, ripe for the slaughter. 'A disorderly mob is no more an army than a heap of building materials is a house' –Socrates. Besides, Matt cannot resist being called a coward. If his men have enough restraint, they'll watch him charge into battle and die a pointless death."

Lonez decided that he had enough proof "Fine then. But you know what? I want to see blood. I want to BATHE in blood. Hell, I want to bathe in blood for a week because you've kept me waiting so long."

Chris let out a demented laugh, someone softened by the comment. "You'll bathe in enough blood to make your heart content far after we've slaughtered every last one of these impudent fools. Be sure not to get AIDS though."

Lonez was not a fan of humor, but the suddenness of the joke got on his good side. He let out a little smile, and decided to make an attempt back. "Well, alright. But be sure not to catch any Venereal disease in the victory tent!"

Chris wasn't totally in the mood for humor, but he let out a chuckle. With that, Lonez walked off to camp. Chris surveyed the battlefield. It was sundown, and he knew that he would need to get some sleep soon. With that, he made his way back to his tent, earning the salute of every soldier in his army along the way. He would make a final review of the battle plans with his officers, and wake up the next morning at around 9:30 to brief his army and get ready. Scouts would bring in their final report just as he got out of bed, and he would know when the enemy was arriving. He had already made a prediction, 4:00 PM, due to the enemy armies marching habits. By that time, his men would be briefed, and equipped, and the enemy would be tired, dehydrated, and out of their minds.

Chris walked into the tent. There waited Epheel, and many officers within the army. Chris spoke, "Good evening, gentlemen."

With that, he pulled out his unit symbols, unfolded a map, and began to outline the plans. Today, this area was insignificant backwater territory. By tomorrow, Lore would remember this place forever…


	2. Act 1: Logistics and Warfare

"The Battle of Ebretman Hill"

_Chapter 2_

As Chris unrolled his map, he set up pieces on it. Each piece represented a 2 Platoon unit known in the army as a sub- company. All units except for archers were set up by these units. Arches were set up into companies, represent by slightly larger pieces. Chris then began to set of enemy pieces on the map. They were organized in 100 man groups, but it was difficult to judge how many guardians would actually take the bait.

Chris finished setting up the pieces. He hurriedly narrated the movements of each piece as he moved it around the map. The officers did not understand him though, because he rushed. He moved to a different table. There lay a 3D model of the ridge. Chris tried once more, he referenced the 3D map as he narrated. This time though, his officers understood the plan. They were ready for action.

( Plan not yet revealed in story. Builds suspense.)

The battlefield itself was at Ebretman Hill. Ebretman Hill was a relatively unknown area, but it was an excellent spot for Chris to fight his battle. Chris had immediately chosen the area as the area in which he would make his defense. He purposely led the enemy army off course for 3 days in order to fortify this location with war machines, and tools. His soldiers performed mock battles against sheep, pigs, and other farm animals. There had only been one casualty in these battles. A chicken managed to sneak into a formation and a soldier tripped on it. It was a long way down.

The hill itself actually had slopes. Bader's slope, the largest slope, a 35 degree angle. Jolon's slope, a 50 degree slope that was narrower than Bader's slope. But what separated the two slopes was Xavzer's slope. Xavzer's slope was elevated about 40 feet above the other two slopes, and was thickly forested. It ran directly down the middle of the other slopes. It was a 25 degree angle, much easier to hike than the other slope, but climbing to the correct elevation was difficult. All three slopes met at the top of the hill, but each slope had a different way to the top. Facing toward the three slopes from the top of the hill, Jolon would be on your left, Xavzer would be in the middle, and Bader on your right. Next to Bader's slope, there was a branch of the hill. A ridge, which was filled with foliage such a bushes. It was an excellent over watch position, and the only way to reach it from the bottom was a vertical climb up the side. Next to Jolon, there was Ebretman Lake, a very deep lake which had a fierce undertow. Not an ideal place to end up, especially not with armor on. There was a slight extrusion on the top of the hill where Jolon was, where trees grew. This made it hard to fall in from the top of the hill. Finally, there was the rear slope. The rear slope was really long, but very gentle. However, it would take two weeks to walk around the hill to reach the other side. The front passage ways were the shortest route up.

The geography played in heavily with Chris's plan. He couldn't have asked for a better place to battle, because he was on top of the hill.

The morning came, the briefing was issued, and people assumed defensive positions around 1:00 PM. The scout report indicated that the enemy might be an hour early. The report was correct. After 2 hours of waiting, the Guardians arrived. Tension was high in the air. The Guardians took a break for about an hour, then moved to the bottom of the hill.

Chris smiled. They were in position. His heart was racing, beating excitedly. He was scared shitless, but the adrenaline was making him tick like a clock. He checked with his officers, all units knew the plan. He looked down on the Guardian army. They looked rag-tag. They wore all different armor, and wielded different weapons. But he could tell that many of them were wielding salvation blades. Chris had plenty of foresight.

Chris muttered to himself before he prepared to give his oration "Damned barbarians. Easiest victory I'll ever get."

Chris looked at his troops. Each wielded an 8 foot long spear, made of thick wood with a hard iron core. The back of the spear contained a counter-weight. This allowed the shield to remain balanced, and more of the shaft could be used. The counter weight was adjustable for the distance at which you wanted to stab, and a handgrip bound with rope was present, attached the counterweight to adjust with it. They all wore a stylized armor, jet black armor plates protected the chest, the shoulders, the upperarms, the shins, and the back of the neck. Underneath, there was a layer of flexible chain mail, which covered any areas the plates didn't. The helmet covered head, and came down to the cheeks, leaving nose exposed. A plume rested on top of the helmet. They carried large, circular shields, made of steel layered with bronze for effect. Each soldier carried three backup weapons, a curved blade steel short sword, a 12-inch dagger, and a 7-inch steel spike, which could penetrate armor, bones, and skulls. Each soldier carried 60-pounds of gear into battle. But the troops did not despair over their load. 60-pounds was nothing to them. They had formed lines, exactly to battle plans.

Matt gave a speech, "Men, today, we are going to crush them. I've never lost a battle before, and today is no exception. Time to hack and slash. Come down here, you weak cowards, fight us like men!"

Chris decided the moment was now to initiate an engagement. "My soldiers, today, we are gathered here to fight these 'men'. The are self-righteous, pompous assholes. They serve false leaders, people who have no concept of leadership. They are mere barbarians. They cannot stand up to our might. We are the greatest fighting force Lore has ever seen, and we come in the name of the Devourer. Today, these fools will be humiliated by us, they will be defeated. Our might is unstable. Running ends here. We choose this to be where we stand and fight, and where we destroy their pathetic armies. They are sheep for the slaughter. Be ready today, for you all may slay 100 of them a piece. They call us cowards, and weaklings? We could easily have you all uncreated, couldn't we? Instead, we will fight here, and we'll put your theory of us being 'The Weaklings' put to the test. If any of you ever live to tell your children, which may I add were sired by the town drunk of Battleon, you will tell them of the horrors we inflict on you and give them more nightmares, other than the ones they get from looking at your faces!"

Chris was beaming, he could sense that at the bottom of the hill, they were getting pissed. He continued to rant on with every insult possible. Matt was about to explode. "So let me ask you, 'men' of Battleon. You call us cowards for sitting here on this rock where it's comfortable. My men would love to cool off right now. They'd love to just relax for a moment after practicing so hard in our last drill. And I'd prefer they not get cramps while massacring you all. If you're so tough and brave, why don't you come get us and our cowardly selves? Hmmmm…. That's right. YOUR TOO MUCH OF PUSSYS TO DO ANYTHING!!!!!!" Chris began to do a range of taunts. He had chosen a light armor cuirass for the specific reason of launching taunts while not looking like a fool on the battle field.

Matt couldn't stand it. He just screamed "Destroy ever last one of those bastards. Make them die slowly and painfully! ATTACK!!!" His men stormed up the hill, running as fast as they could. Matt's bodyguards and Ricobabie held him back, they were nervous he'd do something stupid and get himself killed in the angry state he was it. On a hill, a mistake could cost you your life.

Chris muttered under his breath again, "Vegetius-What can a soldier do who charges when out of breath?" Chris was amused by his quote, and smiling, because in 5 seconds he would give the order, and all hell would break loose. 5…4…3…2…1…


	3. Act 1: The Engagement Begins

"The Battle of Ebretman Hill"

_Chapter 3_

Chris looked down at the charging enemy. They were a mindless horde, not uniform at all. Chris could only wonder what was going through their minds. They were about to be destroyed.

At the bottom of the hill, Matt's anger was growing. It was beyond controllable level. The people restraining him constantly applied more and more pressure. Chris was more than just pleased, he was beaming with glee. He decided to initiate the countdown. 5…4…3…2…1…

Chris called out to his army, about to launch an attack. "Units, phalanx formation!" His foot soldiers suddenly pushed out their shields, and lowered their spears, all simultaneous. They brought their shields back to their bodies, their spears formed lines. Each sub-company had deployed a phalanx, an 8 man wide, 8 man long formation. "Units, phalanx wall!" The phalanxes began to close the gaps between each other. There was a massive wall of spears. The phalanx wall covered the entire top of the hill.

"Archers, bombard!" Across the top of the ridge, archers fired arrows into the air. From the top of the hill, another swarm of arrows swooped upward. They met together in the air, a hurricane of death rained down on the army. The Guardians fell by the hundreds, completely unaware of the threat of arrow attack. "Archers, second bombardment." A second torrent of arrows rained down. Many Guardians placed shields over their heads, others ignored the danger and perished. The Guardian formation had stopped moving. They had their shields over their heads, moving slowly forward. Chris initiated a third bombardment. "Archers, over and under bombardment." The archers fired, but rather than firing a single joined salvo into the air, the arches on the ridges fired high, and the archers on the hill fired straight forward. The enemy was pinned, they could not defend from both waves of arrows. After three more bombardments, the Guardian finally abandoned the plan of defending from arrows, and initiated a second charge.

From the bottom of the hill, Matt was in shock. Chris was putting up more of a fight than Matt expected. Matt was angry, but he was also disheartened. He was watching his soldiers die by the thousands. The wounded were being carried off the hill by the hundreds. He could see people rushing to set up a first aid tent. But he saw his men pushing their way up the hill.

"That's right! Push up that hill. The cowards won't fight you directly because they're weak. Get up there and crush them!" Matt still felt self-confident. The'Galin's minions could not withstand his armies. Besides, paladins were setting up first aid tents to heal the wounded, they'd be back in the fight in no time. But Matt was making a fatal tactical mistake.

The Guardians made it to the top after 2 bombardments thinned their numbers. The fight was still in their favor. Their numbers were superior, and they felt confident of their victory. They made a last charge toward the enemies. They suddenly realized how wrong they were. The phalanx soldiers leveled their spears as the enemy charged them. Guardians found themselves upon a wall of spikes. Many ran themselves onto spears in their haste. Every shield in the phalanx wall had 4 spears protruding from it, each at different lengths. Each Guardian who charged could not dodge the spears, and was killed. Many of the frontline Guardians managed to stop themselves, but the mass formation would not stop so easily. Many were knocked to the ground, or trampled in a desperate attempt to prevent themselves from death. The phalanx wall stood still, and steady fast. The Guardians had lost nearly 300 members in their charge, in addition to 8000 plus from the arrow bombardments, yet the phalanx wall was unharmed.

"Units, advance! No mercy!" Chris's orders rang in Matt's ears. Matt was in shock. He had calmed down and could enter the fight, but he was reluctant to enter. He eventually decided that Chris was being overconfident, and that he'd still win the day.

But some dreams aren't meant to come true. The Phalanx wall began to walk, then stopped. Every Guardian who had tripped was at spear length from the wall.

A leader within The'Galin's army gave the final order. "Slaughter them all." The phalanx wall struck. Within a second of the order, the wall lashed out with spears. The spearmen maintained formation, but all lunged forward. They caught many Guardians with their spears. Then, they pulled their spears back, and thrusted again. The Phanlanx wall repeated, continually thrusting forward then pulling back. They killed every Guardian on the ground without mercy.

The Army of Guardians was in shock. They could not believe it. The enemy had slaughtered their comrades, in uniform. Matt was in utter disbelief. He had watched in disbelief as well, and he heard the screams of pain as his men were massacred.

Chris on the other hand, was calm. He felt extreme joy and exhilaration, but he knew better than to celebrate just yet. He had learned over time that toying around with the enemies was a bad idea unless it was used for tactical purposes, such as ambushes. But this was no longer an ambush, this was a full-scale engagement. He was still calm, strategizing what he would do if Matt manage to evade him. He was ready for the moment that his plans would go awry. He wasn't just ready, it was all he anticipated.

The phalanx wall did not stop. It began to march down the hill. The soldiers did not run, they ambled. They strolled down, thrusting their spears on the oncoming enemies. They marched down, stabbing in quick succession. They continued this process monotonously, killed every Guardian who stood in their path. The Guardians could not take the consistent stress they were now under. Their line collapsed, they fell into disorganization. Although to brave to retreat, and with fear for their egos, they began to back away from the phalanx wall.

"Charge!" Many Guardians attempted several more charges. They fought in pulses. They charged different sections of the line repeatedly. But no man was invincible. Many were cut down by spears before they could even engage. One or two might make it through and get close enough to bash the shields of the phalanx, but a spear would always snap out from behind the shields. The Guardian army was fighting valiantly, but the slow but steady advance of the phalanx wall pushed them back and cut them down.

Matt was infuriated, but at the same time curious. The salvation weapons did not hurt the enemy as much as they should have. The enemy soldiers shrugged it off as if it was nothing. "This should not be happening. How can they resist like that? These are like no agents of The'Galin I've ever seen."

Matt though for a long time. He was unsure what to do to defeat the enemy phalanx, there was no safe way to break their lines, and a withdrawal would kill half his remaining army in the chaos. It was silent except for the clash of metal, and the screams of death and terror. Damani broke the silence. "These are not The'Galin's agents. This is a human army."

Matt was reluctant to accept it, but he knew it was the truth. "Why? Why do they fight against us?"

Damani continued "We don't necessarily have time to discuss that. We have to find a way to get behind their lines and break through."

Matt responded with a growl, "Fine. I'll try to devise a quick plan. And when we get to the top of that hill, I'll make that coward Chris pay for what he's done. We will win this fight, there will always be a way."

Damani walked away, but Matt could tell that he did not share his optimism. "Damani, what is wrong?"

"Matt, we're getting slaughtered out there. The men are losing hope. Everyone thinks this battle is lost. We need an act of courage to motivate them, or we risk having them rout and desert us."

"I understand, I will make sure we win."

Matt was pacing himself for 5 minutes, desperately thinking of a plan for victory. He thought he had found a solution, he was so close to finding a way to victory…


	4. Act 1: Hunting the crippled

"The Battle of Ebretman Hill"

_Chapter 4_

Matt was pacing himself, trying to keep the sounds of dying allies out of his ears. He had a plan of attack though. They would flank around the enemy. Then they'd smash their phalanx wall from the back.

He spoke to one of his bodyguards, "Collect troops who have finished being healed, and bring them over here. I have an idea to win."

"Yes sir." The bodyguard ran off toward the first aid area, other bodyguards followed suit. They were calling for volunteers to help Matt execute a victory plan.

Enter dream world

Matt began to become excited. The clashes of steel and iron in the background became the sounds in his dream. He dreamt of him sneaking around the side of the hill. They'd reach the top. Matt would call the charge, "Attack!"

Chris then screamed, "What, but how? That's impossible. There's no way."

Matt laughed, "That's Chris for you. Always a perverted retard, isn't smart enough to play war games."

Chris said, "Fuck it, I'm getting out of here." He attempted to teleport, but it failed. "Oh crap. I surrender! I am a cowardly fool."

Matt replied, "Oh no you don't. Down you go!" He hit Chris with a mighty attack from his claymore. Chris's weak dream body collapsed. Matt then began to join in the fray from behind. "You will all suffer. Let's rock!" Matt charged the rear.

Chris's army now folded like paper. They began to scream in terror. "We cannot win, Matt is too strong."

They ran down the hill, into the gauntlet of Matt's awaiting army. Chris's men got down on their knees. "Please forgive us. We'll help you fight the'Galin."

Matt pretended to think about it. "No way, bastards!" He and his army started slaughtering the survivors of Chris's army.

Exit dream world. Jesus Christ, what is this guy thinking?

Matt's dream abruptly ended. A lone bodyguard stood in front of him. "Sir, we have 500 volunteers ready, they'll march on your or- Holy crap, look out!"

Matt hardly had anytime to react, but he turned around to see a lone archer, standing near the Jolon slope. The archer had an arrow notched in his bow, and was a second away from firing. The lone bodyguard sprinted, and knocked Matt out of the way. The bodyguard took an arrow to the leg. The bodyguard initially shrugged it off because of his heavy adrenaline levels, but his body was starting to cool down. Matt bolted after the archer in hot pursuit.

The archer wore a light suit of leather armor dyed in purple, with intricate metal bracers. The bracers were unusual, because they ran down the entire forearm, they were made of bronze instead of traditional leather, and they had a design engraved on them. Matt could not make out the design though, because he was not only too far away, but was too bloodthirsty to care.

The archer ran. As he ran, he whistled and then screamed, "Levi is coming!" Matt at first thought he had misheard him. But he realized that the archer had said Levi. He did not know who Levi was, but he seemed pretty scary, and was on his side no doubt. The archer ran onward, but out of the bushes appeared a brown stallion. Matt began to pick up his pace, because he realized that the archers was going to mount up on it. Matt was only 20 feet away when the archer hopped on the horse's back and began to ride. Matt was within 15 feet of the horse by the time it picked up speed.

The archer ran about 50 feet in front of Matt before firing an arrow at him. Matt parried the arrow with his claymore, cutting off the head of the arrow. But the shaft maintained its flight, and struck him in the shoulder. It did not penetrate, but Matt felt a sharp, stinging, pain.

"Levi, cover that archer, keep him pinned!" Matt exclaimed. He went back to see the bodyguard. The bodyguard was lying on the ground, panting heavily. "Hey, you okay there?" Matt said as he approached.

"My leg feels really weird. Its almost numb." was the bodyguard's reply.

Matt bent down, "Rico dear, can you help me examine his leg?"

Ricobabie bent down as well "Anything for you, my love." She began to examine the arrow. "Oh, nasty scratch here. Well, let me check the entrance wound."

She reached over and saw blood coming out of the arrow wound. "Matt, place pressure near his wounds, it will slow the bleeding."

Matt complied, placing a great deal of force. The bodyguard had a confused look on his face, he was somewhat curious and looked at the leg. Ricobabie used two fingers to spread the wound open…

A fountain of blood gushed out of the wound, splattering all over Matt, Ricobabie, and the bodyguard. The bodyguard began to thrash violently and screamed in terror.

"Oh my god, all that blood squirted out of my fuckin' leg! Aaahhhh!!!! Oh my god, oh my god, help me, dear god help me! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!!"

Matt and Ricobabie tried to calm him down and pin him. The bodyguard refused, and flipped onto his front side. The bodyguard again screamed, but even louder than before. "Oh my god, it hurts so much! Oh god! It hurts so fuckin much! And its bleeding everwhere, I'm gonna fuckin die here. Motherfuckers killed me! I'm screwed!! Help me, someone, please, please!"

Matt yelled to him, "Stop being a coward and calm down. Suck it up!"

Ricobabie was serious. She slapped Matt across the face. "I hope I never have to do that again. Don't tell him that! Let me do a prognosis first. Hey, guys," She called over to a group of soldiers, who were watching the spectacle in horror. "Help me keep him calm so I can examine his wounds."

After a few minutes though, Ricobabie came to a chilling conclusion. "The arrow severed his femoral artery, and he has severe bleeding. I can't just use a healing potion, because he'll bleed out the liquid before it can take effect. The arrow is a major source of bleeding, because its position in the leg is applying consistent pressure on wound. The pressure is being applied so that it pushes more blood out of the leg than it would if he had normal wounds. I can't just pull the arrow out, because there are barbs toward the rear of the head. If I pulled the arrows out, he head and barbs would sever more arteries and veins, and possibly create a fracture in the bones, giving him bone marrow poisoning above other things."

"Oh… then what can we do." Matt could only murmur a response at the results.

"He needs healing from an expert healing. He needs surgery. There are apothecaries and surgeons at the first aid tents, we can drop him off there and then continue with your plan."

"Alright," Matt got down and said to the bodyguard, "You're okay, we'll get you to a doctor and you'll live. You're a good soldier, you'll live. You just gotta suck up the pain as I carry you to the medical tent, okay?"

"I understand sir."

"Alright, on three, one…two…three!" Matt picked up the wounded man, and carried him on his shoulders to the first aid area. He began to scream as he approached the area "Hey, hey! This man needs help, give him surgery, now!"

An apothecary wearing bright purple robes with a golden trim walked over to him. "Alright, but he'll need to wait a little bit. There people going into surgery before him."

"Well, he needs surgery NOW."

"Well, so do all THESE people!" The surgeon pointed past the medical area. There was a line of hundreds of men, all with arrows in their bodies, being carried by comrades. They all were hurt badly, and they looked depressed, as if they knew they'd die of their injuries.

"Can you please just admit this man?"

"No, I've got 521 arrow victims to save before him. More casualties show up before we're even done setting up for the next surgery, the prospects of him getting treatment are unlikely."

"Where are the spear victim's tents? Do you think they might have an open surgeon?"

"All the surgeons are treating arrow victims, because we have no spear casualties."

"That doesn't seem possible. There many men getting hurt on that hill-"

"Its those damn enemy spearmen. Whatever Chris taught them he never showed us. Those guys are mindless butchers, they don't leave wounded, they just kill them. And they have no problem doing it. Are they even human?"

Matt began to wallow in doubt. He knew he had to flank that hill, it was his destiny. But for the first time he felt fear. He had always felt confident before. As if he was in a game, but when reality hit, it was a bitch. He finally made up his mind.

"Rico, Damani. Both of you stay here. If I don't take that hill, you both should live. Don't tell me otherwise. Besides, I need someone to lead in my stead. Damani, you may not have had as much experience as me, but your not as dumb as Chris. You're in charge. And Rico, make sure this man gets medical attention. Understand?"

"Yes, Matt."

Matt heard a groan. He looked at the line of wounded. Somebody had just been hit with an arrow. "Levi I told you to cover the archer-"

Matt turned his head to see it was no longer one archer. There were dozens of cavalrymen, standing about. They were in two groups, lancers and archers. The archers fired a salvo of arrows. Matt ducked, and the salvo zoomed overhead. The mass of arrows ripped through the tents. Matt could hear screams. He looked up the Apothecary. He was coughing up blood; an arrow had struck him in the chest.

"My lung, those bastards. The arrow collapsed my lung." The Apothecary stood there, a 1000-yard stare on his face, directed towards the attacking archers. He had gone into shock. The horse archers did not spare him. Two arrows ripped into his chest, and the Apothecary landed on the ground, flat on his face.

The lancers, feeling the archers had done sufficient damage, began to take their turn. The wounded could not run, and the lancers slashed them like a scythe through wheat. They would charge through the enemy, killing them with lances, then circle around and charge again, over and over.

Matt cried out, "No, no, no!" He began to run at the cavalry, swinging his claymore wildly. To no avail, their lancers merely rode their horses around him and other unwounded soldiers. They continually hunted surgeons, apothecaries, and wounded guardians, killing more with each pass they made. They found and killed their targets with deadly accuracy.

But Matt finally stuck. He swung his claymore at an oncoming lancer. The lancer held out his shield, but the impact with the claymore knocked him off his horse, which kept running on after him. The man fell on his right leg. Matt turned around to see the man had his shield on his back, and was slowly backing away, his right leg wobbling from pain. He had his 10 foot lance, similar in design to the spears that Chris's troops on the hill were using, and positioned it defensively.

Matt began to approach him, feeling ready for his first kill of the day. Yet, this mans fate was to live. An allied lancer rode in to pick up the wounded man. Matt abandoned the idea of using caution and rushed. The lancer on the horse scooped up his wounded brethren. The wounded man saw Matt, and reversed the lance, to the side of the counter weight. He jabbed off the side of the horse at Matt, meeting Matt's cuirass with perfect timing. Matt's legs were going forward, but Matt's body was being forced backward by the blow. Matt fell straight on his back, and lancers rode away.

As Matt got up and dusted himself off, Ricobabie showed concern. He quickly reassured her he was fine, but he had to go catch the enemy cavalry. He saw the man he wounded, remount his horse, which had been capture and restrained by an archer. Then, the cavalry, feeling satisfied in their raid, began to make their way of Jolon slope.

Matt began to curse them out, "Come on you cowardly bastards, come and fight us. You can't fight real men, you can only prey on the wounded, huh?" The cavalry ignored his taunt, and continued upwards. Matt quickly regroup his forces, then gave chase, "You bastards can't hide from us. There's only one hilltop!"

Chris, watching carnage from the top of the hill, and felt confident. He saw his men continue to slaughter the Guardians. He watched his cavalry pull off their harassment maneuver, and kill of the wounded without mercy, much to Matt's dismay. It was the most confident he had ever felt. But he knew that if he became too self-confident, he'd be a fool like Matt. "Silly little Matt, doesn't seem to realize what I'm doing."

An archer approached him. "Chris, the enemy are chasing our cavalry up Jolon hill. Levi is amongst them."

"Very well, tell the artillery men to ready the machines. They are to fire once the cavalry are in a safe position."

"Sir, are you certain? We only have a limited amount of ammunition…"

"You are right to question me. But I did not build those machines to have them sit idle. They could save many lives which would be wasted in a downhill charge. Besides, I did not delay the enemy for three days for nothing. Tell the artillery men to carry out the order. And also, have someone tell our friends on Xavzer slope to expect some company. Just a few…walking targets."

"Yes sire, I'll relay the orders at once."

Chris went back into thinking, and began a monologue "Matt, we all knew that you're supreme self-confidence would come back to you one day. I think you've abused and underestimated me for the last time. You think that you have amazing super strength and wits. I'll put you through hell before my time here is over. And this is the beginning of the end. For all of Lore. And when the day comes that I trample Battleon to the ground, and all Lore's people beg for my favor, I will walk up to the historians and say 'My name is Chris, and today, I have conquered what no one else could. I defeated the supposedly undefeatable Battleonian army. My name is Chris, remember it…'"


	5. Act 1: Jolon's Trap and Xavzer's Woods

The Battle of Ebretman Hill

_Chapter 5_

Matt was still chasing after the cavalrymen who raced up Jolon slope. Matt felt fatigue, and so did his men, but Matt egged them on. "Come on, lets go up their and send that cowardly, perverted retard to his grave!"

His bodyguards were panting. "Why don't we have warhorses, again?"

Matt replied, "We have horses, its just they aren't all good in combat."

His bodyguard spoke back, "Then how do they all have such strong horses? Why can they use cavalry so well?"

Matt honestly did not know, so he abandoned trying to answer questions. "It doesn't matter. We'll know once we squeeze the last bit of info out of their survivors. Let's just keep moving."

Matt was enthusiastic enough to keep going despite his fatigue. He thought to himself. "Ha, I knew Chris was a dumbass. He left this hill unguarded. We'll just march right in and destroy your army."

Matt watched Chris's cavalry cross the ridge of the hill. "Those cowards have no where to run now, press the attack."

But Matt's confidence would find itself unfounded again. Matt advanced up the hill, but then he heard what sounded like a countdown in the distance "3, 2, 1, fire!"

A fierce rumbling, a tremor in the ground. Matt thought it felt something like the kick of wild ass. When he looked up the hill, reality sunk in. "Holy shit…"

Matt saw a row of huge boulders coming down the hill. They advanced in a clean cut line toward his men. "Everybody, run. Get out of their path!"

The majority Matt's army ran to the right in their panic (instinctively, people look or move to the right whenever they enter a room or store, same rule applies here.) but they soon discover that there was no where to go to. About a dozen men accident fell off the edge of the hill, into Ebretman Lake. There was no survival for them, the lake was very deep, and their armor weighed them down significantly.

"Quick, to the left!"

Matt sprinted to the left, toward Xavzer slope. He began to climb up the side of the slope, up its steep wall. About 50 other men began to climb up as well. 42 men, including Matt, made it to the top. 8 more men were still climbing. But the rocks continued to move. A rock began to scrape the wall. The men began to climb faster. But many slipped and fell in their newfound haste. Only one man made it to the top. As he began to pull himself up, one of his feet slipped. He was dangling by one hand.

"I got you," The man was grabbed by one his friends on top of Xavzer. "Hold on!" The dangling man put a hand on the ridge and began to try and regain his footing. But as he did so, the rocks began to make impact with Matt's men. They were flattened. Some threw themselves out of the way, into the lake. They'd prefer its icy touch over the violent death by the rocks.

"C'mon," screamed the Guardian to his hapless friend, "You can make it!" The man had almost made it, but the fates did not like him. His legs were hit by the rock as he began to pull himself up, and centrifugal force stuck him to the rock. He was pulled in front of the massive stone. His friend and would-be rescuer, still holding onto him, was thrown forward by the stone. He flew many yards through the air, while Matt watched in amazement. He landed hard, but quickly got back up, to realize he was right in front of an oncoming boulder. There was no escape; the boulder had him dead-on, so the man resigned himself to death.

Matt did not see the impact of the boulder; his view was blocked by another stone before he could. But as he watched the stone, he could make out the silhouette of a human made of blood on its rear. The man had not died peacefully. As Matt surveyed the area, he saw the blood stains on the ground, and bits of bloody remains. Limbs, heads, torsos, they were everywhere. But what Matt saw next shocked him most. He saw a man, whose lower body was completely flattened. He had nothing below his waist. The man screamed in agony and horror. Matt felt scared, but he finally did what he had to do, and launched a fireball to end the man's suffering.

Matt felt a severe cause of survivor's guilt. He felt more than enough. He saw that his 500 men were now a paltry 40. Matt felt his confidence sinking. But he felt somewhat glad; he could have lost Damani or Ricobabie if they had come along. Matt decided that wallowing in sorrow would change nothing. He decided to persevere.

His men had been talking the whole time. "That was no accident. Those stones were shaped. He built them to kill us with!"

"If he did it, how did he launch them?"

"He's a sick bastard. He probably has all sorts of tricks up his sleeve."

"Motherfucker…"

Matt interjected. "Who's the he?"

A man replied "Chris."

"Chris is a psycho. He threw gigantic boulders at us to kill us all. We probably all would have died if you hadn't led us, Matt."

"The man's a psycho, but he's a genius. He's unstoppable. I say we withdraw while we still have our lives."

"Coward, we can still win. We can still break his phalanx, despite our numbers."

"No, I don't think we can. The guy saw us coming from a mile away."

"I don't think just a mile. If he had engines built to launch boulders at us, he saw this three days ago when we were led off course. He knew we'd do this, that's why he built those things."

"We don't even know what those things are. We don't even know if they're machines…"

"That's not the point; the problem is that he saw it coming. He planned so far ahead, he knew we were coming. Who knows what else he is in store for us. He's probably though so far ahead it's not funny."

Matt decided to give his two cents again. "I'm telling you, Chris is a perverted retard. Someone else must have thought of this."

"I dunno. You said he was an expert on the military affairs. He told us numerous things that most of us never knew, and we were experienced soldiers. He told us stories about Hannibal, Alexander the Great, and Shin Tzu. He knew his stuff. But at the same time, we all felt like there was stuff he wasn't telling us, like he was bottling stuff up. And he definitely acted like you said he would, but he was almost intentionally attempting to be alienated."

Matt decided they had discussed enough. He knew he could not bring them to see reason, that Chris was too dumb and too distracted to fight them. But even he had his doubts now. He knew deep down that Chris was beating them, and it really was Chris calling the shots, but he refused to acknowledge this demon.

"Men, we can't just stand here and talk about it. We have to take action, and finish this fight."

His men began to agree, talking was wasting precious time. They separated. A group of 10 men, led by Captain Yeshnas, would scout ahead. They would send a man back to report every few minutes. The main force of about 30 men, led my Matt would move behind them. They began to advance. A breeze began to pick up, and moved through the trees. The trees shook from the wind. Yet the breeze stopped abruptly.

Matt was curious, but left it be. However, less than 10 minutes into their advance, something was wrong. The scouting party failed to report to the main force. Matt called over Corporal Haas, and told him and two other Guardians to go check it out. They sped off into the woods, searching for the scouts. As Matt's forces advanced, they began to feel restless, and uneasy. After 5 minutes, discomfort turned into fear.

There was a slight rustling a tree branch in front of them. They all stared at the rustling. Lightening fast, two figures sped out of the trees, lightening fast. They swooped down, and within less than a second of revealing themselves cut the throats of two of Matt's Guardians. Blood splattered everywhere. But before the blood had even hit the ground, the two figures fled, jumping into the trees. The assailants soon blended in, unseen. The attack was so fast; none of Matt's men could react. Nobody got a good look at the figures either.

"What the hell was that?!?"

Matt and his men were in panic. Two comrades had been killed out of nowhere, and the assailants were gone before their allies' blood hit bare Earth. They backed up, into a huddle. No one moved, they all stood motionless. All that could be heard in the entire forest was their heavy breathing from fear. Pants in desperation.

They eventually worked off their fear after 5 more minutes. "Haas hasn't returned yet. He's out there with, those things."

Matt knew he could not just leave Haas to die, "Alright, I need 5 volunteers to go with me. We're going to find the others."

Matt took his time working up his men's courage, but he finally goaded 5. They began to move through the forest. There were two men with bows at the ready, and 3 swordsmen, whose blades ready to strike. They proceeded with caution, but as they came to thick bushes, they saw a figure standing to their left. They all recognized it, an assailant. It wore a dark cloak, and a mask shaped like a birds beak. It carried two shorts swords that were oddly shaped, the blades were straight, but they curved out from their hilts. The eyes were blood red jewels. It looked Matt down, staring at him. Matt felt fear shiver down his spine. The fear of the figure possessed him, he was almost paralyzed. But his two archers were not as scared.

"Fire!" They both let out twin arrows which flew straight and true. The assailant fell down just as they heard a clang. "Ceasefire, I think we got the bastard."

A swordsman moved to where the assailant had fallen. He stood over the body. Suddenly, it leaped up. The corpse leaped off the ground, and slit the swordsman's throat with his twin knives. Then the assailant jumped, catching a branch in his hands, and swung himself into the tree. The swordsman stood in place, motionless for a few seconds. He finally lost balance, and fell sideways onto the ground. Blood foamed at his neck, but he did not move or gag.

The archers shock was insurmountable. "How'd he do that? Didn't we shoot him?"

A startled cry came from the forest, near where the assailant stood. It was Corporal Haas. There were two arrows in his chest. "Holy fuck, we shot Haas, man down!"

Matt rushed over to Haas. There was a rag over his mouth. Matt untied it. "Sire, we found them sir. In those bushes over there. They're all gone. When we found the bodies, they jumped down from the trees man. From the trees. They started jamming wooden stakes into those two over there." Haas signaled by nodding his head to a tree. There lay the two Guardians. One had stakes jammed in his eyes, the other had a stake in his genitals, and one in his throat. Haas continued his story, "Then, they tied me up man. They restrained me, and tied me to this tree, and then they tricked you into shooting me." Corporal Haas said "Those guys. They must be from Chris. He saw right through us, again…" Haas trailed off, and his head slumped.

The swordsmen's prognosis was grim. He checked through the bushes. Captain Yeshnas and his men had been killed by booby traps. The traps all incorporated steel-tipped stakes, all based on triggers. The men were impaled by a number of designs and variations, but Yeshnas had it worst. A huge spike had leaped out of the ground, hitting directly between his legs. The stake was not on a cable or rope, so it would have needed to be removed behind. It appeared the Captain survived for a little while after the stake hit him. It was definitely not a great way to go.

Matt knew the grim thought would stay with him for a while. When he tried to get it out of his head, he heard a murmur through the trees. A raspy voice, in a whisper like tone, "Get out of our woods."

Matt's fears grew. He had lost 14 soldiers, and the enemy was still going. "Alright, let's consolidate on the position of the main force. We need reinforce before we advance any further through the forest." Matt's men began to walk back to the main position. As they walked, yet another enemy dropped out of the trees. This time though, he dropped in front of the soldier, but was grabbing his sword by the blade. The swordsman looked confused. The enemy placed the hilts on the lower cheek bones of the swordsman, and made a quick, jerking motion. He snapped the man's neck. Matt attempted to swing a blow at the enemy. The enemy parried, and then jumped onto Matt's shoulders, jumping up again into the branches.

Matt returned having lost 2 swordsmen. There he found his men had huddled once again.

"They can't be human. They come out of the trees and murder us."

"They're human, and we can kill them." was Matt's response.

"They killed three people while you were gone. Do they sound stoppable?"

"Yes, I know we can win."

The murmuring voice picked up again. "Get out of the forest, now!"

Matt decided to pull a Hernando Cortez on his men. "We'll never leave. You can come and kill us."

His men were in shock, but they now knew they were in a fight to the death.

Matt had an idea. "They always jump down from the trees to attack. I say we lure them down, and gang up on their cowardly asses."

"Matt, I really don't want to hear ideas right now, I want to leave."

"Too damn bad, looks like you're stuck here."

"Fine, I'll go stand by that tree."

The Guardian began to walk over to a tree. "I'm staying right here until we leave."

Matt was not pleased, "This isn't time for games. All of Lore is at stake here. How many innocents will die if Chris gets his way?"

The Guardian opened his mouth to answer, but the words never came out. A sharp grappling hook was being lowered from the trees. It was lowered beneath the Guardian's chin, and as he opened his mouth to talk, the hook caught him. The sharp hook came in through his chin, and stuck to the roof of his mouth. He attempted to scream in pain, but he could not open his mouth to let it out. The hook began to reel him in. He was dragged up into the trees, flailing more and more violently with each foot higher he was pulled. Finally, he disappeared into the tree line. Matt could hear slashing noises, and blood began to drip from the trees leaves.

One of Matt's archers who had accompanied him through the woods ran forward, and fired an arrow through the spot where the swordsman had been dragged in the tree line. The archer then lowered his bow and attempted to flee. A large disk, attached to a chord, fluttered through the branches. The disc flew past the archers head, but soon reversed its course, repeating the process several times. The cord was wrapped around the archer's neck. The enemies began to drag the archer into the tree line just as they had with the swordsmen. But this time, Matt did not merely stand there. He and three other men charged forward, rushing to aid the archer. They began to pull on his legs, attempting to bring him back down to the ground. But he would not budge. Yet it seemed as if the enemies pulling up the archer were getting tired.

Matt was desperate to save the man, "Everyone, pull hard on three, one…two…three!"

Matt and his helpers pulled the man down. But as salvation seemed imminent, failure struck. The enemies had tied the rope to a tree branch, and when Matt's troop used their last reserves of strength, the enemies let go. Matt's men pulled him down too hard, causing whiplash. The archer's neck had been broken, and Matt's men had inadvertently hanged the poor archer. His body swung upon the rope, hanging there as a reminder to Matt what he had just done. This was the second time the enemy had forced them to eliminate their own soldiers. Matt was tired of it, of the shock and awe campaign. Of Chris's bullshit.

A second archer walked up to the tree, trying to get a good look through the branches. A brave, yet foolish move. As he stood there, looking, a corpse fell on him. His brother in arms, the swordsman, was now lying on top of him. The archer looked down at the corpse, only to see that it was mangled and mutilated. The archer panicked, he flipped over onto his front-side and attempted to climb out from underneath the heavy corpse. In his struggle, his helmet fell off. A large iron dart fell from the trees, penetrating the man's skull. It became halfway lodged in his head, and the archer began to calm down, before expiring from brain damage and blood loss.

Matt had now lost half of his force. His original force of 40 men, down to a mere 20. He could still win, even with these numbers. But the odds of success had decreased. He wondered if he should keep going. He knew it was troubling, but he would examine the mutilated body to see if it was worth the risk. He bent down. Upon the forehead was carved in the word "MOSSIL".

"Weird.", thought Matt, "Wonder what it means though."

Below MOSSIL, the man's cheeks had been slashed. They were carved out, leaving exposed tissue. There were numerous wounds to the neck. In the chest, there were a handful of stab wounds, but one unique aspect was the message written in blood. "Get out of the forest." It chilled Matt that they'd mutilate the dead for that purpose.

"You cowards! You murderers! In cold blood, you killed in cold blood. And you left the body with carvings! Come down here and fight us like men!"

There was a whisper from the trees, "Get out of the forest, MOSSIL. These are our woods…"

Matt was confused. "MOSSIL? Is that an insult?"

"It is what you all are."

"Well, I say you're the MOSSIL!"

"You do not know the meaning of the word, so do not use it. Leave this forest now, or face imminent death."

With that, the whispering died. Matt was infuriated. "We continue onward. No regard for the enemies' life!"

Matt's men still shook in fear. They felt lost, and that death would come soon enough.

Matt's force continually took harassment hits. Darts were flung at them, enemies jumped out of trees, slitting throats and retreating. Even the fishhook tactic was repeated, killing one of Matt's three surviving bodyguards. Matt advance 300 feet, but had taken 10 losses. They had never hurt an enemy. Matt's men were on the verge of a mutiny in desperation. But they knew Matt and his bodyguards were the best fighters, and the seven of them could not take them.

The advance finally came to a clearing. There was a 50 foot pass, about 20 feet wide, that was cleared out. There were shrubs present on the ground, but they looked harmless enough.

"A clearing. Let's took a short break here, no trees for them to pop out of."

Before Matt could interject, the seven men took off into the clearing. One of them tripped. Whishing sounds filled the air around them. Hundreds of wooden spikes flew through the clear, launched by who knew what. They slashed through the bodies of the soldiers. The spikes ripped their flesh and tore it apart. The bodies were mashed, turned to pulp like applesauce. Seven sickening mounds of flesh lay there, in front of Matt and his two bodyguards.

Matt had never felt this way. It had been two hours since the battle had begun. And he had seen the horrors of war. How Chris's tactics butchered men. There was no salvation, many died horribly, treated unbearably. They were murdered by horrible traps, by merciless soldiers. Matt had watched himself fail to save many people. He had, in some cases, killed his own soldiers by mistake. He was in a bottomless pit of despair in this moment.

Matt's two bodyguards resolved the issue. An advance was pointless. They would descend to the summit, and call a retreat in an attempt to save who they could. Matt had remained stubborn though. "Come on, we can't just give up. We're almost their."

His bodyguard responded, "Sir, we'll follow you to the end. But an attack right now is suicide."

Matt just could not bring himself to see the way. "We have to keep going. We did not come this far to turn back."

The voice returned, "Get out of the forest!"

Matt screamed back "We aren't leaving, so shut up!"

Matt proceed the walk forward, claymore stuck out, parallel to his body. His two bodyguards lagged behind, wielding swords. They proceeded about 10 yards, then Matt stopped. He heard a cracking sound behind him, and a thud. He turned around. Both bodyguards were dead, their necks snapped. Matt was alone. No one else in the woods, except for his enemies.

Matt felt more fear than ever. The enemy had him. "Get out!"

Matt turned around. Behind him was a lone enemy. "We, are the arcanii. And we have destroyed you. Get out."

Matt felt anger, "Well, Mister Arcanii, I'm going to kick your ass."

Matt ran at the arcanii, who attempted a dodge but was too slow, and tackled him into a tree. Matt hit his head against the tree in the process. He was on the ground for who knew how long, but Matt finally got up. He saw the groggy arcanii, who had just gotten up. Matt threw him down again, against the tree. He stepped on the arcanii's shoulder. The arcanii threw a punch to his genitals. It hit Matt, but Matt ignored the pain and drove his sword into the arcanii's chest. The arcanii gasped in pain, but died shortly afterward.

Matt's fear was overwhelming. Normally he'd feel satisfied, but that kill was in self-defense. It was not a fun kill, it was a spur of the moment thing. Matt's adrenaline level had never been so high. Matt's panted heavily for a few minutes. Then came the voice in his ear "Get out of the forest!"

Matt turned around. An arcanii was right next to his head, hanging like Spiderman, head first. Matt grabbed the arcanii by his head, the arcanii flipped over, landing right in front of Matt. The arcanii crouched on the landing, and struck Matt in the groin. Matt recoiled, but the arcanii did not stop. He placed his hands on Matt's shoulders, and began to knee him repeatedly in the gut. The arcanii hit Matt 7 times in the lower chest with his knee. Then he threw Matt against a tree, and punched him several times. He finally kicked Matt in the upper chest. As Matt recovered, the arcanii launched a kick to Matt's face with the heel of his boot. Matt lay there for about a minute, unsure as to what happened. He finally got up, despite blood rushing down his face, to receive yet another blow from the arcanii's fist. The arcanii grabbed Matt's neck with his left hand, then punched him one more time with his right hand. He then placed his right hand on Matt's neck, apply pressure to choke Matt. He pulled Matt's head toward him, then slammed him hard against the tree.

The arcanii spoke, but this time, there was no whisper. The arcanii spoke loud, using his normal voice, "Get out of the damn forest now, before I stop being merciful and FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"

Matt was so close to the arcanii, he could see through the jeweled eyeholes in his mask. He saw the human face within, the man was incredibly angry. Matt knew that he had now run his course. He could not last any longer in these woods. He watched the arcanii collect the body of his dead friend and carry it into the trees. Matt began to walk back to Jolon. He had advanced some distance of Xavzer Hill, and now from the edge of the forest, he could see the mighty engines upon Jolon slope, all lined up, covering the entire top of Jolon slope. They were much like onagers, with a claw like device at the end of the shaft to launch boulders. The machines were stuck into the ground. Near the beam that caught the shaft in the machine, was a large track, which was meant for the rocks to roll on after launch. From the track, there was a section of track, shaped as a ramp. The rocks would then roll off the ramp, onto the slope.

It appeared that Chris had indeed designed these machines. There were spaces from the hill and the machines which troops could pass through, but a battalion of soldiers covered these spaces. Matt had never encountered these kinds of soldiers before, but he was in no mood for exploration.

Matt turned around, and jogged through the forest to the other side, toward Bader slope. He stood from the edge of the forest, and looked down hill. He was behind the enemy line. But the enemy line had progressed significantly down the hill ever since Matt had set out. And Matt could see the corpses of Guardians scattered all over the hill where the enemy had advanced. When Matt looked to his own line, he could see it had thinned significantly. The enemy line was moving strong, but the Guardians seem to be running on fumes right now, on the verge of annihilation.

But Matt could see him now. Chris, standing at the top of the hill, with a group of about 20 bodyguards. Matt knew that if he rushed, he might be able to take Chris, and kill or rout him. Such an act would dishearten the enemy, and embolden Matt's soldiers. Matt knew it was worth a shot. He caught his breath, and got ready. He heard a breeze in forests behind him, similar to the one that spawned the arcanii. But he shrugged it off, his ordeal with them was done. Matt got pumped up from adrenaline. He knew this would be the deciding moment. He readied his claymore, got into a sprinting stance, and eyeballed his target, waiting for the right moment to catch him off guard…


	6. Act 1: The Denoument of Battle

"The Battle of Ebretman Hill"

_Chapter 6_

Matt knew his time was now. The Battle here on Ebretman Hill had raged for 2 and ½ hours, and it already seemed like there was a victor. Chris's men had drove through Matt's force of guardians. They had drove them down Ebretman Hill. They had deployed machines and devices that murdered Matt's men and left them as bloody piles of flesh. But Matt now saw Chris, the mastermind behind the operation. He saw Chris, with a gigantic smile on his face. Matt knew that Chris though he had this one in a bag.

Matt got ready to sprint, he watched for the right moment. He watched Chris's bodyguards talk to each other, then one said out loud.

"Levi is coming."

Matt was yet again puzzled. But his amazement did not make him hesitate. He began a monologue. "Chris, I don't know who in hell Levi is, but he scares your men badly. And I'm sure I'm twice the soldier he is. You will pay today, for every man who died resisting you. I don't even care for victory, or for my own life, I just want to kill you as a tribute to my fallen comrades. Time to die, bastard!"

Matt took off running towards Chris, claymore raised over his head. Chris turned away, and walked toward a horse, totally ignoring Matt. As Matt came closer, Chris turned around. He was holding a 10-foot lance. Matt slowed town his running, and Chris launched a precision blow to Matt's chest plate. The lance had a sharp tip, but it was blunter than a typical spear to prevent over penetration at high speeds. Matt's armor was of high quality, and Chris had launched a relatively weak blow. Matt recoiled a few inches, but then quickly brought his sword back to fighting position.

Chris then brought up his left knee, and placed the heel off his boot on his right knee, perpendicular to it. He then brought his left foot forward, stepping out as far as he could, and squatting as he did so. This brought the lance forward, launching a quick, powerful attack at Matt, and brought Chris into a fighting stance. The attack was off by about 2 inches, but Matt stumbled through flinching. Chris readied himself, at perfect range for a powerful, yet accurate, lance attack. Matt, encumbered by recoil due to the blunt force from the blow, was desperate. He knew damn well that Chris was now dangerous, he was in his element. Chris was unsuppressed, he could think clearly, and outsmart him.

Matt took the initiative. He dove toward Chris, landing about 5 feet away from him. Inside the spear's reach. With the point behind him, facing away, Matt shot up, and grabbed the shaft of the spear. Chris stood up as well, but knew that Matt had the lance, and that pulling out of his hands would be tricky.

"Ha, you bastard. I beat you. You told us yourself, a spear is just a stick once you get past the head." Matt placed the tip of his claymore against Chris's chain mail cuirass as he spoke. Although the claymore could not actually land a fatal hit on Chris because of Matt holding it with one hand, it was symbolic of Matt's victory.

"Well, Matt. Looks like you won. Except for one tiny problem."

"What, your army, your bodyguards?" Matt looked around to see the bodyguard retinue standing in a circle around him, all armed. "Hey, they can't stop me from killing you, and I'll just kill as many as I can before they take me down."

"No, it's the fact that I lied about spears."

"Wha-" Matt was cut off. Chris yanked the spear free, pulling it back and to his left with force. Matt let go instinctively. Chris ducked down, and twirled the spear over his head, bringing it around. The counterweight spun around, and hit Matt on the left side of his face. Matt felt teeth crack even though it was a light blow. Matt fell over, his head hurt too much to feel anything else. His jaw felt as if it weren't even connected to his head anymore.

Matt felt too much pain to get up. It was nearly half an hour before he the pain subsided enough for him to get up. When he did, he looked down the hill. Chris's army was at the bottom of the hill. Matt's army was in full retreat. Some of Matt's men ran for cover so they could fight on, others ran away from the fight. Chris's lancers were in hot pursuit though, tracking down and hunting the masses of running men.

Many fell beneath the lancers. They drove their lances into men's hearts without sympathy, with no mercy. They inflicted sorrow and cruelty, and left bleeding, dying men in their wake. Matt had never seen the world like this. When he saw people dying when he played Oblivion or Gears of War, it was cool. But this was not cool, he was watching real people dying firsthand. He saw them slaughtered while they ran, innocent men who had given up their will to fight were slaughtered for his amusement.

Matt then saw Chris, standing about 100 feet down the hill from him. Chris had put down the lance, but he still had a sword at his side. Matt was afraid of him now. Chris was not normal. He was not being a perverted retard. He was now a sickening, cruel person. Matt was under the impression this whole thing was a nightmare, that he'd wake up and Chris would be the same. But he saw now that had underestimated the danger of bringing Chris to Lore.

"Chris, are you insane?"

Chris turned around to see him, "No…oh wait, well, yes, actually.

"How can you do this? How can you fight for him?"

"Because I don't want to be here. You brought me here against my will. And now, I'm turning to the only person I can trust."

"You can't trust the Devourer. You should know that."

"What, are you saying that I should trust you, of all people? A useless coward pig, such as yourself, you're of no use to me. I have my own agenda, and first on my list is to get the hell out of here. I can't trust you with that task, so I'll turn to the only person I can."

"What? The Devourer will just uncreate you once you finish serving him."

"Even if he does, I have a better chance trusting him then you. You'll just throw me to the backseat, despite me being the benefactor of your "victory". You treat me like crap in your army, so I'll destroy you, and humiliate you to make you learn."

"Chris, I'll kill you, and we'll see who's humiliated."

"Go ahead, come and try. My bodyguards will kill you at the drop of a hat, long before you ever touch me. Your army is already beaten, destroyed by my superior forces. You've lost 60,000 men already, and the slaughter continues. Death's quota will be filled thricefold by the time I decide to send you to hell."

Matt was about to explode with anger, but his own fear made him hesitant. Chris scowled at him.

"Come on Matt. Come and get me. The God of War hates those who hesitate."

Matt just lost it. "You bastard, I'll destroy every last bodyguard, and every last soldier in your army before I throw you on the ground and kill your pathetic, cowardly ass!" Matt charged.

Matt began to close in. Chris did not run. He ducked. As Matt came close, he turned his head around. Two horsemen rode toward him. They rode parallel, and they held a lance between them. They rode past with Matt in between them, and the lance collided with him. The lance cracked upon his cuirass and Matt was knocked back by the blow. His legs hit Chris's crouched body as he stumbled, and he tripped. Chris rose up from underneath, head butting Matt between the legs. Chris placed his hands at Matt's ankles, and stood up. The action knocked Matt off his feet; he rolled over Chris, landing on his head. His sword landed on its hilt, blade in the air. Matt torso grazed the blade; a huge scratch ran down his cuirass.

Matt stood up, his legs wobbling. He had taken so much abuse over the last few hours. He shouldn't even be alive. Matt felt a sharp pain in his thigh. He looked down, to see a large arrow in his leg. Matt had had enough. He just collapsed, and as Chris's bodyguards came over with shackles and handcuffs, he allowed them to restrain him without a fight.

At the bottom of the hill, the fight raged on. Chris's phalanx wall had divided into individual phalanxes. Matt's men were jumping out of cover, making their last stand.

Chris felt annoyed "Will they ever give up?" Chris pondered the question, but then realized he would probably make the same tactical decision if he were in that situation. He wondered if the spread out phalanxes would withstand the charge. There were about 2,500 enemies soldiers charging him. Chris decided not to underestimate the enemy, and to reduce his casualties. He played the ace of spades, the formation his men had spent time and energy to perfect.

"Units, schiltron formation!"

Chris's army began to form up. 20 formations began to form up, each 1,000 men in size. It took about 1 minute, but the massive formations came together. The schiltron was a large circle of spearmen, points out. The circle had pikes sticking out of all sides, making it like a porcupine. It was almost completely impenetrable. Matt's men charged the schiltrons, unaware that there were no exposed flanks. By the time reality hit, Matt's men were half way through the engagement. They fell upon the schiltrons's perimeter, and found themselves impaled. It was the exact same as the beginning of the engagement against the phalanx wall. For nearly half-an-hour, the battle raged on in pulses, with small groups of Guardians charging forward at the schiltron, and easily being beaten by the spears.

But, Chris had yet to foresee what was to come. For in Matt's absence, someone had been scheming. As sunset came Damani stood up from a line of bushes on the outer rim of a nearby forest, with a 500 man reserve force. "Send forth the war horses!"

Two armored knights rode forward, in a parallel formation. Between the horses was a huge log suspended on cables. The knights rode toward a schiltron, in a suicide attack. As the knights got close, they snapped the cable, and released the log. The knights rode straight into the spear wall, impaling themselves upon impact. But the log collided with the wall, bashing its way through the shield wall. Spearmen were crushed by the log, and the wall folded like cardboard. It was a makeshift battering ram, and it had penetrated the shield wall. A 100-man group of elite-Guardians rushed the gap, and slashed their way through.

The Guardians were berserkers. As they made their way within the gap, they began to hack and slash, massacring the spearmen in tight quarters. Many spearmen abandoned their spears, and brought out short swords to fight with. They used their shields extensively against the berserkers. The small bands of spearmen fought with short swords, ganging up in groups on berserkers. The berserkers typically killed about 4 or 5 before falling beneath the enemy swords.

The berserkers were on fire. They were devastating the schiltron. The commander of the schiltron finally called out "Deploy, Jaws of Fire. Many spearmen within the schiltron turned the direction of their spears inward, forming a boxlike shape. Three straight sides of spears faced inward toward the 80 or so berserkers who had survived the engagement thus far. It made a mouth, with the spears its razor sharp teeth. Many spearmen within the jaws began to slowly walk backwards, trying to mix in with their brothers. The berserkers would not give them the chance, charging after them with contempt for the spear's points.

The berserkers's press killed many withdrawing men. Each berserker took down a man. But the spears jabbed forward, and many fell after they received their kill. About 20 berserkers held position in the middle of the jaws. One attempted to flee; a spearman jabbed out at him, impaling his arm and hooking him like a fish. A second spearman lined up his weapon with the berserker's back. The first berserker yanked back, pulling the berserk onto the second spear's deadly point.

The jaws were tight around the surviving berserkers. They had nowhere to run, as their comrade had just demonstrated. All they could do was make peace with whatever deity awaited them. The enemy spears were mere inches from them.

The commander spoke out loud to his men, "So, spearmen, are any of you hungry?"

He was met with a deafening response, each man screamed out "Hyie!" (pronounced "Hi!")

The commander gave the punch line, "So, then why don't you bite down on them, and swallowing them whole?"

The men wholeheartedly agreed, despite the corny joke. The soldiers leaned back, then lashed forward, gaining extra momentum to penetrate armor and flesh. The berserkers all simultaneously fell, devastated by the final spear attack.

Damani had watched the berserkers die. They had all fought hard, and now was the time to trigger phase two. Damani's 400 infantry stood up, and began to walk toward the schiltron. As they walked, they all heard a buzzing noise. The flight of arrows. A tornado of arrows came down from the skies, launched from the ridge line.

Damani's men were walking, so they could all place shields over their heads. But the sheer volume of arrows allowed them to push their way through. Nearly 100 of Damani's men had been killed by the end of the bombardment from arrows landing around the perimeter of the formation.

Damani had to switch gears. "Forget phase two, schiltron!"

Damani's men had never practiced a schiltron, so they were sloppy and inefficient. But the eventually got it in position. By that time, Chris had moved a formation of spearmen in a surrounding position around the schiltron. The spearmen encircled them, and began to move closer and closer, making the circle claustrophobic.

Damani knew he could not just sit there in a schiltron. His men had spears, but they were shorted than the enemies, and without the counterweight less of the shaft was usable. Damani gave an order "Throw your spears and charge!"

Damani's men left their stances, stood up, and threw spears at the approaching enemy perimeter. They drew swords, and attacked the disoriented enemy. They bashed through the lines, killing numerous spearmen before falling back to the center. They had killed 150 enemies, and only lost 25 of their own. A great start to a last stand. The spearmen picked up the pace and advanced again. Damani's men huddled up, swords at the ready. As the spears advanced, they swung out at the tips, slicing the heads off. Then, they launched a second, even more furious charge. As they hacked and slashed their way through the spearmen line, the battle took an unexpected turn.

The second line of spear lashed out, completely ignoring the allied soldiers in front of them. The spears cut through the flesh of both friend and foe. Damani's men were unprepared for such a desperate move. They began to lose their foothold, and the spearmen lashed again. There were now 200 of Damani's infantry, and they began to pull back. They fell into a circle once more. Damani stood at the center, he looked down to see Ricobabie at his feet. She was using healing magic on a wounded soldiers.

The spearmen backed away, out to about 200 feet away from Damani's soldiers. As they backed out, they made 4 aisles, each one wide enough to fit 2 lines of soldiers. As the spearmen's formation came to substance, Chris's cavalry archers rode through the gaps. As they rode through the gaps, they'd fire arrows at the Guardians. The arrows were generally inaccurate, and too few in number to matter, but they had a psychological effect as the arrows consistently kept flying. An arrow grazed the shield of one of Ricobabie's bodyguards, flying off the rim of the shield into his neck.

Finally, the arrow attacks stopped. Damani had crouched behind his shield the whole time. As he peered over the top, he finally saw the enemy cavalry. They had completely encircled the Guardian formation. And they all had their bows cocked, ready to fire. Damani saw the arrows let fly, and as they flew towards him and his men, he crouched behind his shield, and thought to himself, "This is it…"


	7. Act 1: Finale, Bravery and Submission

"The Battle of Ebretman Hill"

_Finale_

Damani watched the enemy's arrows scream toward him. They came faster than lightening, and their crack was louder than thunder. Nearly 1500 arrows collided with the formation, many bounced off shields, cracking and snapping as they did. Others penetrated the hard steel, the shields were not impregnable. They penetrated armor, and flesh. The Guardians were in a circle, and their shields covered a 360 degree area, so very few were killed despite the volume of arrows. Only 10 men had suffered fatal wounds. But the arrows penetration power allowed them to wound many more, and the next bombardment might not be as merciful.

A second wave of arrows collided with the armored skin of the Guardian schiltron. Many wounded men had trouble keeping their shields n place, so this time, there were 15 fatalities. A third wave struck, 20 men were killed.

Damani knew that they could not rout the enemy, they'd be dead long before the charge was complete. If they just stood there, they'd have the same fate. Damani decided he could not win, all he could do was bring down as many of them as he could before the inevitable.

Next to him stood a wizard. "I need you to use the most destructive spell in your arsenal. We can't beat them, but we can lay one final smack down on them."

The wizard responded, "Should I target Chris?"

Damani knew this would be a tough decision. It was either destroy the strongest enemy leader they'd ever face, or destroy his seemingly invincible army. Damani eventually realized that even if Chris was dead, the enemy army could still function.

"Target their men. Attacking Chris is a waste of time right now."

The wizard became focused. He was about to pull a meteor out of orbit. The projectile would kill everyone at the foot of Ebretman Hill. It took massive amounts of concentration, and the wizard's face became strained. Chris's army suddenly realized what he was doing and looked on in horror.

Chris looked down from the top of the hill. He was in sheer terror. "No, no, it can't end like this. I mean, we won, but the whole thing will be over! No! No! Please, oh my god don't let it end like this. All those months of training, and preparing, all for this?!? No, please no! I don't want it to end like this. All those men. This whole campaign…"

Chris dropped to his knees and sobbed. This blow, the fireball from the sky would kill half the army. Over 28,000 men would perish from the fireball. This cripple Chris's army, and destroying the war machine. All this effort that Chris had put in would go to waste, for he would lose the war right here. Chris's deal with the 'Galin had merely been to humiliate and defeat Matt once. But he was about to lose his army, and the war would be over. It would be a humiliating defeat for Matt's forces, but the defeat would have them victorious. Chris couldn't stand the thought of Matt winning, and having Matt prance over him. He couldn't take the idea of going back to being backseat, after all this effort.

Captain Marcus Johrasto saw the look of horror on his men's faces. He looked to see his whole army panicked. He looked at the enemy, they seemed uncertain, but they were about to sacrifice themselves for their kind. Captain Johrasto thought about what would happen next. Then, he thought of them.

His wife, who had died nearly 7 months ago. His daughter, who was 7 months pregnant, and too distraught to forget what happened that day. His three dead sons, who had died attempting to defend their mother and sister's honor. His brother, who lost a leg 7 months ago, and was now watching over the crops and Marcus' daughter.

Marcus remembered his brother's last words to him, "The MOSSIL did things to us that shouldn't have happened. They committed atrocities beyond my belief. They raped our sisters and murdered our brothers. Marcus, I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you are doing this. Go and fight them, take back what is ours, and make things right. For Alina, who fought off an attacker defending her honor. For Gortua, standing out there with a baby she never wanted in her chest. For Yorki, Bonjo, and Kyemen, who stood there ground and saved my life, and tried to save their sister and mother's. Go out there and make out people proud. Show these MOSSIL that we are proud, that we are strong, and that we will not stand for their "justice"."

Marcus remembered those words as he walked out of his cottage to join Chris's army, 3 and ½ months ago. Marcus knew that his time was now. The campaign could not end with one close battle. It could not end with one act of resistance. The MOSSIL had to see their error, and the fallen had to be avenged.

Marcus, removed his helmet, and held onto it. He let his short, combed hair out from the headband he had tied around his forehead. He threw down his spear, and dropped his shield. He began to sprint toward the enemy. Both sides gasped is sheer amazement of his courage.

Marcus was about 20 feet from the enemy line. He took his helmet, and threw it at an enemy soldier. The helmet made contact with the man's head, and knocked him back. Marcus drew his short sword, and gripped it well. He let out a booming war cry, his voice was louder than the apocalypse. "MOSSIL, it all end here! FOR MY FAMILY, MY HONOR, AND MY FREEDOM!!!! GGYYYAAARRRRGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!" (Wow, I just broke so many grammar conventions…"

Marcus sprinted the last 20 feet, running faster than he ever had. He jumped upon an enemy soldiers shield, and jumped off before the man could even lose his balance. He flew through the air, about 5 feet above the heads of his enemies. He drew closer and closer to the wizard, and positioned his sword just right. He thrusted the sword forward, into the wizard's exposed neck. He let go of the sword as he soared (no pun intended people), and left it behind. The wizard fell onto his back, and began to gag from blood filling up his throat. Marcus's landing was met with hostility. When he first stood up, an enemy brought his sword down, leaving a huge scratch on Marcus' chest, with blood dripping down from it. A second enemy cleaved Marcus's left shoulder with a claymore. Marcus ignored the pain, but a third enemy struck.

The enemy jabbed a spear at him, sticking the head into Marcus's chest. Marcus felt a pain like none he had ever felt, but he ignored it. He turned his head behind him one last time. The wizard was dead, he was in hell by now, and there would be no spell. Marcus put on a grin. He grabbed the spear in his chest, and pulled it inward. He completely impaled himself, but he dragged the enemy Guardian closer. The Guardian held into the spear, but had a confused look on his face. Marcus grinned harder, then brought up his fist into the Guardian's face. The punch rocked the Guardian's jaw. The Guardian let go of the spear and stumbled back, with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Marcus, fell to his knees, then toppled onto his sides. He never lost his grin.

Damani knew that his resort had failed. It was 8 PM, it was starting to get dark. Damani knew it was over. He walked forward from his formation, threw down his sword, and dropped to his knees. His men followed suit. It was over, it was a decisive tactical victory for Chris.

Chris was in shock over Marcus's burst bravery and devotion because it had come from nowhere. Chris was still proud and amazed. The fight was over, he had scored a victory for the history books.

When Chris arrived at the bottom of the, Damani was on his knees, unwilling to fight on. Chris had Matt dragged down to the bottom with him. Chris looked down at Matt and spoke.

"On your knees." Matt complied, rising to his knees and looking up at his new found master. "Have I performed appropriately? Did I use the right amount of force? Did I… did you men deserve what happened to them?"

Matt spoke with what little energy he could. "No, and that's why I hate you. You sadistic bastard. One day, I'm going to get you for the way you humiliated me here."

Chris maintained his composure. "Exactly, and the fact that these men were abused is why they did this. The word MOSSIL is an acronym. It was created by these people to describe your people."

Matt was confused, "What? Those people aren't Battleonians?"

A Captain walked forward. "No, we are the so-called "Barbarians". When the Devourer first appeared, you sent people to us for our aid. We agreed, we wanted to help fight the greater evil. We sent every soldier we could spare into defending YOUR roads and YOUR cities. We gave large amounts of our treasury to help you fight YOUR wars. You coaxed us into believing your sob story. We did things for you with no expectation of repayment. Well, you decided to repay us anyway, with betrayal. Your Adventurers attacked one of our trade caravans in an ambush. That wasn't a problem, our troops repelled the assault, and we understood that they were renegades."

Another Captain walked forward, "But 7 months ago today, your official army went to seek 'Justice'. They assaulted us unexpectedly. They destroyed three of forts, and burned many of our towns with your weapons and devices. They were assisted by many Guardians and Adventurers. Many refugee convoys and villages were ransacked, the men were enslaved or murdered, and the women raped and beaten. You left behind horrors wherever you went.

Matt was in disbelief, "That couldn't have happened. Battleonians are friendly compassionate-"

The Captain cut him off "Bullshit! Your just like any other MOSSIL! Captain Johrasto's daughter was raped, and she is now 7 months pregnant! His brother had his leg CUT OFF by a salvation blade!"

The other Captain continued, "You coerced us into following you with lies about the Devourer being a Great Evil. In truth, you know who the evil really was? YOU! You liars, you deceivers. You put us to sleep with your talk of unity, and fighting for peace, and when we woke up, everything we had was gone. Taken by you! MOSSIL is what you all are, Men Of Stone and Steel and Iron and LIES!!!"

"And that's why we fight for the Devourer. He gave us the tools we needed to get even, and to fight back against you. I'm proud of every Guardian that I butchered today, and I hoped they suffered for a long time while they died!"

Chris looked down at Matt. Matt looked like he was about to cry from the accusations. "I'm letting you all go. You have 15 minutes to run, before I come and destroy you all!"

Matt was released from the shackles, and walked over to the Guardians. He silently acknowledged Ricobabie and Damani. They were all grimey, and loaded with sorrow. The enemy formation had cleared, and began to march back up Ebretman Hill. There was now a path for the Guardians. They looked back at Chris.

He spoke one word, "Fly." With that, they shambled into the night. They never looked back.

On top of the hill, several hours later, there was thundering music and applause. Men mourned those lost, but celebrated to "decisive victory". There was ample song and drink. Bonfires raged, fueled by the corpses of Guardians. Men danced around the roaring flames.

Chris was in good spirits tonight. His plan had come together perfectly, and there were more enemy casualties than he dreamed.

Colonel Lonez, who had led the lancers today, came up to him. "Congratulations, General. The other officers who doubted you are impressed. You did well. And," Lonez looked down at the thousands of yet unaccounted enemy bodies, "You kept your promise. My men had that constructed while you set up the festivities."

Lonez pointed to a wine press. Or what looked like one. Chris realized it was for squeezing blood out of bodies when he saw several men load corpses into the machine and use the press.

Chris smiled "Damn, I though you were joking. Well, I'm sure you'll bathe well for a long time."

Lonez then spoke back "Alright, well, goodnight General. I hope you enjoy the festivities. And I'm looking forward to that funeral oration you announced for Captain Johrasto. He was a good man. His sacrifice will be remembered amongst our people for a long time." Lonez then walked off.

Chris walked into the morgue tent. He found Captain Johrasto's body. "Good job, Marcus. You did a great deed today. Something which few could ever do…" Chris paused for a while, "I'll bury you under Battleon's ashes, and with military honors. And I'll talk to your daughter and brother when I get back. I'll make sure that they both live good lives. Because you, you did good out there, and I'm proud of you."

Chris finished his monologue, and walked out of the tent. He had thought about his words for the oration, and he knew what to say…


	8. Act 1: Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Chris walked out of the morgue tent. It had been a long day, but his men had been victorious, and he watched their celebrating. Chris began to walk to a large bon fire. His men continued to party and drink, but when he reached the bon fire, he found large rock nearby.

Chris perched himself on top of the rock. A sergeant spotted him, and began to scream to other soldiers to calm down. Silence began to take over, and the partying was on pause in that moment. Chris looked out to see some 39,000 faces, staring at him. They looked as if they were expecting something. Chris decided that now was the perfect time to get it over with.

"Good evening. I'm sure you've all had a pleasant day. Aside from all the death and destruction." The previous statement was met with some chuckling, despite Chris's serious tone in delivering it. He continued.

"But, today's victory, came with its share of hardships. 4 months ago, I pretty sure this whole thing looked like a joke. It seemed as if victory, was a mere impossibility. But 4 months have passed since that day, since we were met with skepticism. I have seen you all grow and evolve. You have become real soldiers, you have transformed from a mob, to a real army. You have all learned discipline, and you all have become brave and persevering despite the odds of failure or defeat. You have become stronger, physically and mentally. You have bonded, you have become an army that cares. You all were indifferent to each other when you arrived for training. You now all risk your lives for one another. You have become a team, you know how to work together, to overwhelm a seemingly stronger enemy, despite their numbers and power."

"But most importantly, you have all seen your first taste of combat as an army. And you excelled because you took the time to learn. We suffered greatly, waiting for a fight we could win. We lost many scouts, and many were killed on our march. But our journey has seen its climax. And I'm proud of you all."

"The acts the MOSSIL performed 7 months ago are inexcusable. An unjustified attack upon innocent lives. Today, we have shown them that we will not stand for this. We will not accept their attitude. We won't just forget about the thousands slaughtered. Today, we avenged the fallen. Today is a great victory for that reason. Never again will they doubt us."

"But today has also changed the game. We have lost few, but each man lost is a friend, a brother. Each men who died today had died for the souls of those lost 7 months ago. And that is why they are the worthiest of men. They died for an honorable cause. It is hard to tell a man, that he will be one of the few who will fall. That many of his friends will live while he dies. And in a day of victory like this, that few will mourn him until his body returns to friendly soil. But those men did it. The won this fight. They decided to abandon attachment, for the good of all men. For the worth of this cause. They are worthier than any man who stands before me. They are worthier than any man behind me. They are worthier than any man alive, including myself."

"Captain Marcus Johrasto, aged 39, fell today. His family suffered unspeakable horrors while he was out fighting a skirmish with the local militia some 3 miles from his village. The village was plundered while he fought for his home. I knew Johrasto, he was in despair. He joined the army to slaughter enemies. But today, he did something that I thought I might never see. He kept the battle in our favor. He sacrificed himself, so that this whole army could live, and fight another day. He charged without orders. No one told him to give his life. He acted upon his own bravery, and his own devotion. He was a free man, and in that vital hour, he acted upon his freedom, and killed the foul wizard who would think he could merely destroy us after all this time. He gained nothing from this whole thing. He gave his life solely for the benefit of others. For the benefit of his people. He died with a smile on his face, knowing he had won."

"It was his courage, which shines amongst us. It is his courage, which makes us strong. The world had not been fair to him. He could have fled, he could have run. But he ran forward, and destroyed the enemy wizard. Oh yes! He won, all 200 pounds of flesh upon him. And his sacrifice was important. He was not here to fight for this army, he came here to kill and then go home. But his devotion today, it shows us what we are worth. What we all can be. We have faced failure, and seen it through to the end. Matt Michaelson and the Guardians have seen today, that even the smallest of souls and the simplest of people can make a difference. That they can die with honor, and that they can do from "barbarianism" to become the most powerful and most righteous."

"I hope that you look at what happened today. Today is the first step towards a greater tomorrow. Remember those lost, for they have died for the future, and all of its promise. Give praise to the 'Galin, as he has supplied us the methods for victory and good fortune. Remember to thank all those who give what little they can for us. Remember all these things, so that next time, your spears tip will thrust cleaner. Your sword will cut deeper. Your arrows will soar faster. And after the next battle, you may all someday become worthy of all who have perished today…"

As Chris stepped down from the rock, his men cheered. They were motivated more now then ever before. They began to chant. The chanted praises to Chris, to the fallen, to all who had contributed to the campaign. And that chanted especially hard for the Devourer. The Devourer looked down from the heavens, smiling benevolently because of the great things that were taking place in his name.

Two Weeks Later

The Truthseekers, Matt, and several other Guardians sat at a table, in the top floor of Guardian tower. The paladin, Artix Von Krieger, sat at the end of table. Various other figures of Lore sat along the table as well. Typically, a beaming smile would have been on their faces. But today, their happy demeanor was squelched. Frowns went from side to side on their faces. Matt looked nervous, even Ricobabie's attempts to comfort him weren't helping.

"So, Matt. I'm sure we've all heard the tale about how you fared at Ebretman Hill. Why don't we dissect this battle, and see what went wrong." Warlic began.

"So, according to this, you arrived with 65,000 men. Oh…"

Matt was not enjoying were this was going. They knew that he had only returned with a paltry 150 men. But it was only now that they realized that Matt had brought a lot more men than they thought. Matt tried to end the conversation.

"Look, Warlic. I know I messed up. I'm sorry. I won't make the same mistakes twice."

Artix's frown got even worse. His brow was tensed. "How do we know that you even realize what mistakes you made?"

"Look, Chris is a dumbass. He got lucky this time. I'll make sure we beat him next time. Now, can we please not talk about this?"

Artix looked like he about to kill Matt. "Why shouldn't we talk about it?"

Matt did not change his answer. "I don't think I screwed up. I just think Chris got lucky. God, what are you, my dad?"

Artix exploded "I'm saying we should talk about it, because you went to that battlefield with 65,000 men. You came back with 150 battered men, covered in the blood OF THEIR FRIEDNS! When we first brought Chris here 4 months ago, I honestly thought he was the most foolish person I ever met. And now, somehow, he magically gets lucky, and is able to outmaneuver, outflank, and outsmart you? Hmmm, the fact that you charged the first hill wasn't bad enough? And that you attacked a dug-in ground force? AND THAT YOUR FLANKING PARTY WAS CRUSHED BY HUGE FUCKING BOULDERS WASN'T ENOUGH?" Artix banged his hands on the table.

Warlic spoke. "We are in considerable danger. Chris inflicted so many losses on us, while barely losing any men. He outsmarted us, time and time again. His men seem to have this devotion that I don't regularly see. I'm afraid our world is in worse danger if Chris has his way. He's ruthless, and very angry with us. His armies are angry, too. I don't think we can expect much mercy from them with the way things are going."

Artix rose again, "How dare you bring him here, Matt! Didn't your mommy and daddy give you any common sense? I don't know how he does it, but he's beating our asses!"

Yulgar spoke, "The news just hit Battleon that we were defeated at Ebretman Hill despite overwhelming odds. Everyone knows about how Chris kicked our asses. Thousands of people are defecting. Willow Creek is overflowing with refuges, who are planning to cross the river. They own everything across it. They've basically butchered our men there. I'd say that their recruitment numbers are phenomenal, all our people. Now, we aren't only in a war against the Devourer, we're in civil war as well."

Everyone at the table stared Matt down. Matt could only let out a peep, "Oh shit…"

Johrasto Farm, Dwarfhold Vallry

Chris knew that this would be hard. He looked at the cottage, amongst many in the village. Some 300 men had traveled with him to visit home, and tell their families they were safe. Marcus had been the only man from the village to die. Chris would have to comfort his family.

"Well, Marcus, this it. Don't worry, I'll take care of them."

With that, Chris walked down the cobblestone path to the front door, and used the brass knocker. It weighed heavier than a ton. Chris stood there for 30 seconds, then saw the door open, to reveal a man with one leg, walking on 2 canes. Chris introduced himself, and was promptly invited in to tell Marcus's tale…


	9. Act 2: Prologue

"The Uncontrollable Fire"

_Act 2: Prologue_

2 and ½ months since the humiliation. 2 and ½ months of sheer terror, as the people of Battleon waited for death. It seemed imminent. Chris had launched a crushing blow. The war had begun. People were more afraid of Chris than the Devourer, for they had heard tales of Chris's officers bathing in blood, squeezed out of the bodies of Battleon's dead. They heard the horrors, about bodies being mutilated, and the flesh fed to monsters. No one knew how true the stories were, but the rumors spread, and increased the terror and panic everyone felt.

The war did not rage though. It was a war of attrition. A war of mindset. People were depressed. Alcohol prices were premium, everyone wanted to drown their sorrows. Some nights, a pint might cost 45 gold. In order to meet the demand for security, a protection tax was placed on the communities of Battleon. Each neighborhood had to raise taxes and supply men to the army, or not receive any form of protection. Adventurers no long roamed the wild. If they found themselves in trouble, there would be no aid, for all the troops had pulled back to strong points across the country side.

Chris was a silent demon, for he sent no troops over the river to Battleon. His ego was what propelled the war effort. Thousands of refugees poured into his lands. Each could become a farmer, a blacksmith, a merchant, a business man, a scientist, an engineer, a mage, or a soldier, and it deprived the enemy of manpower. For each refuge, Battleon lost a person and Chris gained another. As more people poured in, the odds seemed more and more grim for Battleon, and it took a psychological toll. The bridge across the river overflowed. People camped on its banks for days, trying to cross.

The leaders of Battleon became desperate. So, they constructed military outposts along their portion of the river, and protected them with the most loyal of Guardians. And they made their final decree. Anyone who attempted a crossing without the approval of Battleon's leaders or from a General was a traitor, and would receive death. No man, woman, or child was exempt, all who attempted to cross the bridge would be killed without mercy.

The bridge was heavily militarized by the Guardians. 1,000 were massacred within the first week of the decree. They were buried in mass graves of 100 people each. The Guardians were constantly killing small groups who attempted defection. Only a handful ever made it through. Eventually, the killing pace became slowing, and the Guardians began to bury people it individual graves. The constant killing had been ample warning to keep the defection rate low. But the move scared many within Battleon, it showed how desperate their leaders were.

The Truthseekers finally decided that the war could not continue like this. These dark days were tearing Lore apart. Many provinces threatened defection if things continued like this. Across the seas, Adventurers and Guardians threatened to revolt if the situation did not improve. A small group of rebels had begun to organize in the deserts to the south. A group of 25 Truthseekers with an additional 500 X-Guardians crossed the bridge, and planned to establish a foothold there to mount a much larger invasion.

Sergeant Corvitos, of the 3rd Garrison of Battleon

Corvitos stared across the bridge, hating himself at that moment. He had been a soldiers since the day after he turned 18, he had spent 11 years now in the military. And now he was smacking himself now for volunteering for the Armed Reconnaissance And First Encounter Platoon (ARAFEP) of the 3rd Garrison some 3 years ago. Unlike Guardians or Adventurers, Lore's official army was organized, disciplined, and well trained. They did well at fighting what the Guardians couldn't.

The ARAFEP was one of the most respected positions in the Battleonian Army. It was considered the premier unit, with combatants trained in all disciplines of combat, from cavalry fighting, to infantry fighting, to ranged combat, to hand to hand. It was in many ways, a special forces unit. Coritos had been proud when he had been assigned to this unit some 3 year ago. But today he felt shitty. They were being sent in because all scouts had failed to report back in.

Some two weeks ago, the Truthseekers, under the leadership of Dale, had moved across the bridge to establish a foothold. Scouts had been sent from the 3rd to locate them and report their status. No scouts had returned. No one ever returned. Corvitos was afraid. He was no afraid of death, but he was afraid of some necrophiliac enemy soldier raping his corpse, and then eating his intestines.

Corvitos looked back. He had about 50 men standing behind him. They all looked fearful. Behind them, he saw his commander, Captain Zalsha. Zalsha glared at him. Corvitos knew that Zalsha would have him and his men flogged if they cowered away, and he'd rather get this over with so he'd never be expected to go back.

"ARAFEP, mount up!" The ARAFEP soldiers sprinted into the camp, and mounted their horses. Corvitos sprinted towards his own horse. The horse was restless, it was afraid as if it detected the evil across the bridge. "Glaashnas, we'll be fine." He whispered to his horse. But then again, even he wasn't so sure of that.

As Corvitos cantered his horse back to the bridge, Captain Zalsha signaled to him. Corvitos slowed his horse to a trot, and began to circle Zalsha to warm up the horse.

Zalsha spoke, "Sarge'nt, you and your men have to haul ass. Stay together, but don't waste time. The 3rd needs to assess whether we should move across the bridge, or stay put until General Matt arrives. Your men have full authority to do whatever is necessary to get us this information. That includes the abandoning of wounded team members for the good of the mission. Speed is of the essence. Do you understand, Serg'nt?"

Corvitos responded, "Sir, yes, sir."

"I hope you understand the importance of this mission. The 3rd has no other ARAFEP units. If you don't return, we may have to start sending in conventional fighting units to scout. And we both know that will tip off the enemy that we're coming. We don't know if they have a good idea as of yet. We need to know. We need to know our situation before we move in."

"I understand sir, but don't we have Scout Snipers?"

"That's a negative, Corvitos. Our Scout snipers are in the south, aiding the 9th Field Garrison deal with the rebels. You guys are our last resort before we potentially fuck the operation up."

"Roger that, sir…"

Corvitos could not talk his way out of this one. He cursed the heavens as he cantered to the bridge, "Units, forward!" Corvitos drew his long sword, and swung it over his head several times before pointing the tip forward. His horse reared, and began to gallop. Corvitos and his men sped across the bridge, into the unknown.

The 3rd hailed from the Southern deserts, so they knew little about the terrain. They should have been in the South, putting down the rebellion there. But the 3rd only handled affairs local to Battleon, the Marines and Field Garrisons handled stuff such as the rebellion.

As Corvitos rode the countryside, with his men on the lookout, he considered the irony. The 3rd should theoretically handle the rebellion. But instead, they were handling this bullshit. The irony was that the army was so well organized that they weren't flexible enough to do the most logical thing. They had put so much effort into making the Battleonian Army a disciplined fearsome fighting force by organizing it, that now the army's policies contradicted the objective.

(To explain this better, irony is when you believe that a certain course of action will result one way or another, and when you adjust to try and prevent this, then the opposite ends up happening. For instance, let's suppose that you are getting married, but you're afraid of rain ruining your wedding. So you hold your wedding in the desert. Now, everybody is really thirsty, and dehydrated, ruining your wedding. See how this ties in? Anyway, I've taught your dumbass enough for today. Time to continue the story).

After an hour of riding, the ARAFEP saw a tower. It was a 50-foot tall tower, with an 18-foot stone wall surrounding it. The walls were circular in shape, with the tower at the center. A 6-foot wooden palisade encircled the walls. After riding closer, Corvitos and his men got a better look. There was about a 300 foot radius between the tower and the walls. In between the tower and the walls stood multiple structures.

As they got closer to the building, they realized it was a fort. They saw soldiers on top of the walls, but they had never seen these troops before. They adorned suits of chain mail, with a steel breastplate above their chain mail. Their helmets were cylindrical, with angled protrusions made to deflect blows. The top was rounded out, a perfected dome. The cylinder was perfect, except for a large cut for the eyes, and a small slit front of the mouth piece.

The soldiers carried large elliptical shields, made of iron. The shields had a sharpened silver trim on the edges. The shield's center had a large brass dome protruding from it. The soldiers all carried a large spear, but it was tapered and aerodynamic. The spear was built to be thrown, as opposed to used as a primary weapon. The shields had 4 poles attached to them, although in the inside where the soldier manned the shield. The poles appeared to have iron tips. They were javelins. On their belts, the soldiers carried short swords, 2 ballistic darts, daggers, and various vials which were labeled by color.

As Corvitos demounted his horse, he walked to the fort with 4 other soldiers. They walked up to the fort. They were greeted by a group of 10 soldiers. A soldier stepped forward from the group. He was not wearing a helmet or carrying a spear. He walked forward, wearing only his armor and carrying a shield.

"Hello," He said in charming voice, with a hint of a British accent. "Corporal Shawnvis. Comanseti at arms. F Company, 4th Battalion, 12th Comanseti Brigade."

"Sergeant Corvitos, 3rd Battleon Garrison. Who do you serve? No wait, let me rephrase that. Who are the Comanseti?"

Shawnvis replied with a smile on his face, "Why, we are the acting Marine Corp of the army of The 'Galin. And you are a Battleonian? Why, we actually saw a large group of Battleonians just the other day. Very pushy group. And we've been finding a quite few in the woods for the past few days."

"Yes well, that large group, do you know where they went?" Corvitos did not expect a response, he only wanted to remain civil so he'd have an excuse to stab this bastard. ARAFEP troops were instructed to be civil whenever they were dealing with civilians or non-hostile enemy troops. If they were uncooperative, ARAFEP troops were granted the right to use all the force they needed.

"Why, they are here, at this fort right now. Many of the ones we've seen in the woods are here, too."

"Oh, they are, please show them to me." Corvitos could tell by the ring in the man's voice that he wasn't lying about having seen the Battleonians. But there was something not right.

"Most certainly," The Corporal spoke with pleasure, as if he were dying to have some ask him the question. Shawnvis led him around the side of the fort. "Here they are!" He pointed towards something.

There was a large field, a few acres in size. It was fenced off by heads on pikes. The heads of the X-Guardians and Truthseekers. The heads were dyed different colors. They were being used as markers. The field looked like it had been tilled.

Corvitos's was in shock. "What, but, how? Why? What the hell, man?!?"

Shawnvis replied in a monotone. "You know, I grew up on a farm. I'm a farm boy at heart. And on the farm, I found out the ashes make a great fertilizer. Especially the ashes of dead animals. So, we beheaded the bodies, placed the heads on pikes, and burned the bodies. I planted the seeds for a crop, so the fort will eat good come fall. Although, I didn't have enough ashes for those cherries. After all, we all love cherries, don't we? Don't you like cherries?"

Corvitos responding without thing, "Yes I do, but- That's irrelevant! Why we you do such a barbaric thing?"

The Sergeant seemed to ignore him "You know what? You brought 50 men? Why, that's just enough to grow a full harvest of cherries."

Corvitos, "Are you… are you threatening me?"

Shawnvis seemed to ignore him again. "You know, I'm starting to get a whim for cherries right about now…"

Corvitos was infuriated. First he was brought to this place to find his allies dead. And now he was being mocked and threatened at the same time. He drew his long sword and screamed. "You motherfucker! I'm gonna kill you, you fucking bastard!"

Corvitos swung his sword at Shawnvis. Shawnvis blocked with his large shield and drew out his short sword. The Comanseti and the ARAFEP joined the fight as well, pulling out their weapons.

Shawnvis launched a quick slash with his short sword. Corvitos parried, and went on the attack. Corvitos swung his long sword with all his might. He brought it down with two hands, discarding his shield. Shawnvis looked as if he were about to parry, but his hands became limp at the last second. The short sword dropped to the ground harmlessly. Corvitos's long sword kept going, though. Corvitos cleaved the ground hard and his blade stuck. Shawnvis did not wait for Corvitos, he pressed the attack. He lunged forward and brought his shield forward in a sweeping attack. The brass dome bashed the side of Corvitos's head. Corvitos was knocked off his feet, and landed hard on his back.

As Corvitos looked to his left, he saw one of his men fighting one-on-one against of Comanseti. They were watching each other, moving cautiously. They both had swords at the ready. Suddenly, the Comanseti lashed forward. He raised his shield, positioning it horizontally, and bashing it forward. He pushed the ARAFEP soldier's shield and sword back, leaving his gut exposed. The Comanseti thrust his sword forward, catching the soldier in the gut. About 1/2 of the 15-inch blade penetrated, leaving a huge wound. The soldier dropped to his knees and slumped forward against the Comanseti's shield. The Comanseti swept the shield to his left, knocking the limp cadaver off. The limp body landed on the ground in a heap right next to Corvitos.

Meanwhile, a second Battleonian faced off against his enemy. The ARAFEP soldier fought aggressively with a bastard sword. He swung again and again, and the Comanseti could only block with his shield. After several attacks a blow was deflected off the brass dome of the shield. The blade was knocked away from the shield. The Comanseti launched an attack. He brought his blade behind the back of his neck, and swung it at the soldier. The soldier recovered, launching his bastard sword forward in a counterattack. It knocked the short sword out of the Comanseti's hand, and the sword flew behind his head.

The Comanseti, weaponless, began to back away. The Battleonian threw down his shield, raised his sword over his head with two hands, and brought it down. The Comanseti blocked the attack, deflecting it off his shield. The Comanseti stumbled back a few steps. The Battleonian grinned, letting go of his sword with his left hand and let it dangle from his right hand, blade on the ground. The Comanseti did not relent. He raised his shield, with the edges pointing at the Battleonian, and threw it like a shut-put, spinning in position before letting go off the shield. The shield made impact just underneath the Battleonian's neck. The Battleonian gagged, stumbled back, and then lost balance, landing flat on his back. The Comanseti ran to up to him, crouched down and pulled his head back to reveal the Battleonian's neck. The Comanseti took out his dagger and slit the man's throat.

Corvitos sat up, and then looked to his right. There stood 2 Comanseti and 2 of his men, both in close combat. There was heavy fighting going on.

A Comanseti and an ARAFEP soldier were engaged. It was an even fight. Both fought with swords, dueling it out. Then, the Comanseti thrashed at the ARAFEP soldier, hitting him square in the chest with his shield. The ARAFEP soldier did not stumble, but he took a few steps back to regain his balance. The Comanseti was relentless. He dove down, landing his shield on the ground and rolling over it in a somersault. He brought the shield up over his head as he recovered right in front of the ARAFEP soldier. The shield, perpendicular to the ARAFEP soldier's torso, kept the ARAFEP soldier from protecting his lower body. The Comanseti stabbed him about 10" above his groin. The ARAFEP soldier dropped his sword and shield, and placed his hands on his wounds. The Comanseti dropped his shield, and grabbed the back of the man's neck with his left hand. He pulled the man toward him as he jabbed his sword forward at him. He stabbed the man, with 13 of the sword's 15 inches penetrating. Then he threw down the limp corpse.

The second pair of combatants were still at it. The Comanseti had backed the ARAFEP soldier against a tree. The ARAFEP soldier was struggling to stay alive, the Comanseti were relentless. This particular one was no exception. The ARAFEP soldier eventually made a reversal. The Comanseti attempted to stab him and end the fight. The ARAFEP soldier threw his shield forward at the Comanseti's arm, knocking it away, and the sword flee out of it. The Comanseti brought up his shield, protecting most of his body. The ARAFEP soldier launched a kick to the Comanseti's knee. The kick was hard and fast, and the Comanseti fell over like a ton of bricks. He landed hard on his back. The Comanseti placed his shield in front of him to protect himself. The ARAFEP soldier threw down his shield on top of the Comanseti's shield, knocking it aside. The ARAFEP grasped his sword's hilt with both hands, raised it up, with the tip facing down toward the Comanseti. He brought the sword down into the Comanseti's chest plate with sufficient force. It cleared the breastplate, and broke the rings of the chain mail. They buckled, and pieces of jagged broken metal began to tear apart more flesh. The sword impaled the Comanseti, and killed him.

Corvitos watched as a Comanseti threw his heavy spear at the man. He watched the spear soar. It collided with the ARAFEP's armor plate, it penetrated. It speared him all the way through. The ARAFEP fell back against the tree, then dropped forward on his knees. Corvitos watched him exhale his last breath of life, and then slump back against the tree.

As the Comanseti rushed to aid their fallen brother, Shawnvis stood over Corvitos.

He spoke, a slight tone of anger within his voice, "You know something? I already told you about my passion for cherries. But my father, he was a good man. He used to grow the best damn cherries in the world. These were wonderful cherries. They'd brighten up your day, no matter how bad the circumstances. And they would last for years without going bad. So, whenever me and my father had a bad day, I remember we used to sit out on the porch, and we'd stare out at the fields, and eat our cherries. And everything felt better."

Corvitos stared at him blankly. All this talk about cherries was creeping him out. It seemed as if Shawnvis was insane, because he seemed so disconnected with reality.

Shawnvis continued though, "Now, I'm sure you don't want to listen to my nostalgia, but I could make a few boxes of those great cherries. I have quite a few seeds. Now, all I'd need would be some fertilizer. Hmmm… ashes would work…"

Corvitos suddenly understood where this was going. "How many people's ashes would you need?"

"About 5 actually. So we've killed how many of your men? 1. 2. 3. 4." He looked at Corvitos devilishly. "Hmm… we're short one person for cherries. Wonder how we could compensate?"

Corvitos was in horror. This was the exact reason he didn't want to cross the bridge. He'd become the experiment of this insane farmer.

"Do you have a wife, or any children? I imagine they'd be very sad if you passed away. I know! I could send them a box of cherries to brighten up their day! Or I could send a box to the leader's of Battleon, make them forget all about Ebretman hill."

Corvitos was cringing. He was still on the ground, but he was trying to push away from the farmer.

"Now Corvitos, do you want to die?"

"Not like this…"

"Well then, go run along. Leave us be, go take your men and go back over that bridge of yours. Go tell your leaders what awaits them across the river."

Corvitos just sat there for a moment, to much shock to move.

Shawnvis did not care, "Go, before I decide that I'd like to grow my cherries."

Sergeant Corvitos stood up, and began to walk back to the ARAFEP's position. He did not care what happened to the bodies of his fallen brothers. He was too afraid to care. He strolled back to the ARAFEP's location, and told them to move out.

Back at the fort, Shawnvis walked onto the top of the fort's keep. "Sir, Corporal Shawnvis, reporting sir!"

Standing next to the keep's battlements was Chris. "Ah, Shawnvis. You dealt with our guests?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, well. Good show. I am hereby promoting you to Sergeant."

"Thank you, sir. It's an honor to fight for you, and the Devourer."

"Anyway, Sergeant, I want you to tell the Captain and his men to follow them, but do not engage, and to make their way to Battleon ASAP."

"Sir, permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission granted."

"Why are we doing this? This is a risky operation, and what do we accomplish by this. I joined to fight the enemy, not become like them.

"I made my vow to Julian Johrasto and the people of Summits-Word that I would not let the Battleonians have one moment of peace. I plan to keep that vow. The enemy army is persistently trying to move over the bridge and trample us. Simply put, they will have to devote more men to defending their home turf, and there will be fewer soldiers for us to fight. It's a strategic maneuver."

"I understand, sir. I realize the error in my thinking."

"Don't be ashamed. Questioning leaders is important, because there must be two reasonable sides to a discussion in order for it to be objective. I appreciate your questioning. It helps me put into context what I'm doing."

Shawnvis was amazed by this response, "Thank you sir, I'm honored."

Shawnvis ran down into the lower levels of the fort. Within a few minutes of his departure, Chris saw 200 figures, dressed in black cloaks, ride off after the ARAFEP.

"Soon, Shawnvis, you will have enough ashes to cultivate any plant you want." Chris turned around, and began to climb down into the keep. The riders rode off into the distance, ready for their mission…


	10. Act 2: The Spark of Ignition

"The Uncontrollable Fire"

_Chapter 1_

The Man looked out to Battleon from a hilltop. He saw the buildings, he saw people in the streets. It was like any other city, except for one thing. Everything was depressing. The people were bummed, the streets were unclean. The buildings were sooty, and unclean. Things just felt dark. Even the homeless were too depressed to beg.

The Man had only heard stories of the horrors of Ebretman Hill. They created an impression, which the man could not shake off. He was used to fighting, blood and death. But the violence and depravity rubbed off. He could not believe that men would commit such atrocities. He had heard tales of mutilated bodies, of army officers literally bathing in the blood of dead enemies, and of bonfires made of corpses. Yet at the same time, he knew why the "Barbarians", who referred to themselves as "Valleymen" because of their capital, Summits-Word, was located in a Dwarfhold Mountain valley.

The Valleymen had been pushed around many times in the past by the Battleonians, even before the Devourer showed up. They had fought numerous wars, many of which came up short. The Valleymen had won the last war, though. This was some 15 years ago. They gave back much of the territory they gained, hoping to make peace with the Battleonians. They lost the territory bit by bit over the next few years from skirmishes with Adventurers. The Valleymen were too passive, they did not fight back. They allowed themselves to be attack in order to prevent a much larger war.

When the Devourer arrived, the Valleymen quickly agreed to aid the people of Battleon. They believed that the hatchet had finally been buried. That their non-aggression had paid off. But the incident 7 months ago proved them wrong.

The Incident pushed the line. It was a shameful, dishonorable, and cowardly attack. The Valleymen knew they had been pushed around way too much after that. They were ashamed of themselves, for they had no real weapons. They weren't real warriors, there was only small army made up of berserker infantry, and a handful of militia units. They could not fight and win a war. Their contact with Chris and Devourer changed that significantly.

The Man knew that he could not dwell on history too long. He had a mission, and it was of the utmost importance. He began to walk toward Battleon.

The Man wore a long dark cloak, and carried 2 satchels and large sack. But even in his gothic attire and odd luggage, he fit in well. Everything was too depressing to distinguish people from. No one really cared anymore. They were so scared.

They had become more afraid of Chris and his barbarians than they were of the Devourer. At least a fate of uncreation would be quick and fairly painless. Death by soldiers meant suffering, and the possibility of a long and drawn out death. Then came the knowledge that their body would be desecrated.

The Man made his way to Yulgar's Inn. As he walked in, General Matt walked out. The General had turned back for home after hearing reports from scouts of the grizzly fate met by the Truthseekers, and tales of sociopath soldiers across the bridge. Matt had reportedly begun to pick up a drinking habit. Although small, only 2 or 3 pints per week, he felt the need to drown his sorrow, and his own shame over Ebretman Hill. He also had begun a compulsive buying habit. He spent large sums of money from his personal treasury, shopping for weapons and armor even though he clearly did not need them. Most people did not hold him accountable for what happened at Ebretman Hill. But each one who did was like a stab in the chest for him. For each leader who held him responsible, it was more like a stab to the back.

The Man walked through the door. People were lined up by the dozens across the bar to get drinks. The business at the bar was booming. But even Yulgar looked depressed, despite the fact that he'd soon be the richest man in Battleon. The mood of his clients rubbed off. Yulgar had recently had a gold plaque placed on the wall, listing the names of loyal patrons who died at Ebretman Hill, or in the fighting in general. Next to it was a silver plaque names of the Truthseekers and X-Guardians who had been slaughtered by the Comanseti. Next to that was a bronze plaque. The plaque listed the names of all the people who had committed suicide from depression, or who had died from binge drinking. The list was long, at least 1,000 names.

The Man felt he had enough distractions. Time to get focus. He drilled himself mentally while he walked over to Yulgar.

"Excuse me, Mr. Yulgar."

Yulgar turned to see him, "Oh, hi. Well, I know. What would you like sir? Actually, you look like the rich sort. I just acquired a 4-year old bottle of Chateau de Giyulevile. Would you like a glass or a bottle?"

The Man chuckled. "No thank you. But anyway, would you happen to have a large room that I could rent out? I need to hold a meeting with a few of my drinking buddies."

"Why yes, actually. Third floor. Here's the key to get up there.."

"Thank you. Oh yes, could I also get a bottle of mead?"

"Most certainly."

The man paid his tab, collected the mead, and walked away with the key. He arrived at the upstairs room, and placed his bags on the floor. He spent about 2 minutes in the room. He collected his thoughts. He then went over to the balcony, and took a look over the railing. He saw several figures approaching, all dressed in black cloaks like his. When he went down stairs to the second floor, he readied his signal.

The Man arrived downstairs to find the situation was very hostile. Several Adventurers and Guardians were having an argument. The argument got very hostile, with threats being passed along. The lead Guardian, a dracomancer, finally said that the Guardians would back off it "You Adventurer fucks shut up and leave us alone." The Guardians walked down the stairs to a table where they had left their drinks. Both sides were still infuriated though.

The Man knew that he needed to give the signal. He took out his bottle of mead, opened up the cap, and placed it on the railing of the second floor. He knocked it over. The bottle fell, landing on the table of the still angered Guardians. The Guardians got very annoyed, and got up out of their seats. The lead Guardian, the dracomancer walked up to the lead Adventurer, a paladin. He slapped him across the face The Adventure punched him back. A bar fight ensued.

At first, it was only that group of about a dozen men, with the rest of the bar watching in awe. But the fight escalated when an Adventurer's punch missed and struck the jaw of an onlooker. The fighting began to get bigger and bigger. Pretty soon, the whole bar was fighting, chairs flew, punches were thrown, bottles broke, and Yulgar cursed his luck and began to scream in terror of what was happening to his bar.

One by one, the group of black cloaked men made their way to the top of the inn. They arrived at the large room, and began to set up. There were about 50 men in this room, they would meet the rest of their group of about 200 later. They opened up their satchels, and began to reveal weapons. Each man carried two daggers, ballistic and poison darts, throwing knives, and a large long sword in addition to various other projectile devices.

They opened their larger sacks. They each adorned a studded leather breastplate beneath their black cloaks. They placed upon their heads balaclava masks, which kept them faceless. All that could be seen through the mask were the eyes through the eye slit. They placed numerous vials and substances into pockets inside their cloaks. They concealed their weapons upon belts. Their long swords were placed in sheaths on their backs, hidden behind the cloak. They placed gauntlets on their hands, which a letter "A" was written in stylized calligraphy on each hand. Finally, they adorned it. A silver face mask, which fitted to the face of the wearer, directly on top of the balaclava. It was not intended to be intimidating, but it was due to its generic look of indifference.

As they finished equipping, a red-haired woman entered the room. "You, agents of the 'Galin! How dare you come here! I'll kill you all!"

It was the huntress. Her sword was drawn and there was anger in her face.

The Man gave hands signal to one of his soldiers. The soldier responded with a nod. The Man just stood back and waited. The Huntress began to close in, walking a step closer each few seconds.

Then came the gagging. The huntress began to gag violently. She began to gasp for air, she could not breath. Or more accurately, she could breathe, but she felt suffocated. She fell to the floor.

The Man walked over to her and held up a vial. "This, is carbonate lyvistos. We added it to your pint of ale. It has a dosage of carbon which mixes with oxygen in the blood stream to turn oxygen into CO2. The carbonate is beginning to mix in with you blood. You're getting the immediate shock. You will die in 5 hours of slow oxygen deprivation."

The Huntress gagged herself with fingers, attempting to vomit to release the poison. The Man continued. "So, you want to be resistant? Fine, suit yourself."

The Man picked up the Huntress's sword. He grabbed the Huntress by her left shoulder, and raised her onto her knees. He took her sword, and impaled her upon it. The Man looked at the corpse lying on the floor for about a minute, then he and his men headed down the stairs, into the fray.

As the Man and his men made their way through the crowd, a patron ran up to the Man and punched him. The Man, spying a dagger on the belt of his attacker, snatched the dagger and stabbed the man in the back. He did not have time to beat the living shit out of this man. He had a job to do. As he arrived at the doorway, he spotted Matt within the fray, attacking people.

What aggravated the Man was that a riot was brewing. People were already fighting outside the bar. The Man knew that if a riot broke out, the guard would be on watch and the Operation was fucked. Him and his man left the crowd and walked down the street. When checking with his men, he found they had stabbed 4 men, and incapacitated 13. He did not care though.

"Throw the pellets!"

His men pulled vials filled with pellets out of their cloaks, and undid the corks. The pellets began to smoke. The men quickly removed them from their tubes, and threw the pellets into the crowd and into the bar. The pellets left smoke trails as they flew through the air. They landed within the crowd, and the smoke began to expand. As people began to inhale the fumes, the smoke irritated their throats, eyes, and lungs. People began to flee the area, forgetting about their anger. The anarchy had been controlled.

The area was clear, and the men in masks began to stroll through town. They merited some attention as they walked due to their unusual masks, but no one thought much of it. As they walked toward the outskirts of Battleon, they met with numerous other members of their order. They walked toward the edge of the city, and prepared to leave.

200 strong walked out of the city. They made their way to a dairy farm and asked the farmer if they could buy manure. The farmer was intimidated by them, and immediate took their offer to buy for full price. They collected about 60 bags. As they made their way around the city, they unloaded the manure, and began to apply chemicals to it. For 3 hours, they labored, applying chemicals to the _bovine feces_. They finally manufactured an acceptable amount of their product.

The 200 men began to cart the bags back to Battleon. They moved swiftly. They all moved into position. They divided into 40 man teams, and each headed to different districts of the city. There were 3 carts filled with manure. Two carts were hidden in an alley, while another was brought with Man's team. They moved to Guardian tower, and placed the manure cart about 50 feet from the tower. There were 30 Guardian Elite protecting the tower.

As the cart was set into position, the Man stood back. In case you haven't been able to figure it out already, he was no ordinary man. He was a leader within an Elite Order known as the "Demonic Angels", better known as the assailants. They were the elite of the Valleymen's standing army. They had existed long before Chris had ever arrived, and had served the Valleymen Emperor's since the Devourer's first arrival. They were the rivals of the Arcanii, and unlike the Arcanii, they were light shock troops, and thrived in environments with many obstacles, particularly cities. The Man was a Captain within the order, 3 steps below the top, a Colonel. He had to be appointed by a Colonel, but he had received the honor of being appointed by General Chris. He was definitely good at what he did.

The hour approached, the mission was scheduled to begin in 5 minutes. All of this had been set up for the real operation. The Captain had been on Ops before, but not one like this. Now was the time for glory. In 5 minutes, life in Battleon would be disrupted beyond normalcy. Nothing of this scale had ever happened before, but this was only the beginning…


	11. Act 2: The Flames of Battleon

"The Uncontrollable Fire"

_Chapter 2_

The Captain waited, anxious to accomplish the mission today. His goal was to raise as much hell as possible within 1 hour before withdrawing. This would be fun. The Op was starting with an attack on the Guardian Tower.

The Demonic Angels had readied themselves well. They had mixed chemicals with manure to make explosives. The Captain had ordered his men to place 20 bags of Manure-Explosive in front of the Tower, based on a spring timer. Although, come to think of it, they'd never asked about the grade of manure. That would affect its punch significantly. The Captain thought he was about to wet himself. If the manure grade was too low, the Guardian Elite standing outside the tower might get pissed off after hearing such a loud noise.

Upstairs, on the top floor of the tower, a meeting was taking place. All the leaders of Lore, including Matt, had sobered up enough to gather and discuss strategy.

The Captain began to listen to some Guardians banter. A tough looking Guardian, who wore a short beard around the edges of his face, was talking to a man dressed in chain mail, carrying parchment.

"So, what are you, some sorta writer?"

"No, I'm a combat correspondent."

"Well, ya' seen any combat?"

"I've seen a little… on tapestries!" The other Guardians met the retort with some applause.

"You're a real comedian."

"Well, they call me the joker!" Another round of applause was made.

"You know what? I gotta joke for you… I'm gonna tear you a new asshole!" A loud applause was heard from the Guardians.

"Joker" thought about it for a few seconds, and then responded, "Okay, but first you'll HAVE TO EAT THE PEANUTS OUT OF MY SHIT!!" The greatest applause of all was heard from the Guardians.

(In case you don't know what this is paying homage to, this is a tribute to the 1987 movie Full Metal Jacket. Great damn movie…)

The banter, and the approaching deadline were aggravating the Captain. Joker's corny comebacks weren't helping. By that time, he had reached a safe distance from the blast, but he could still hear them.

He began to scream. "Goddamn you both! Goddamn all you assholes, and your misunderstanding of the concept of humor! You want to see humor? This is going to be FUCKING HILARIOUS!"

The Captain picked up a large rock and hurled it at the cart. As it flew through the air, the tough Guardian cried out "What the hell?" The rock hit the explosive manure cart, and everything was still for about a second…

KAAABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The explosion was much bigger than expected. The blast eclipsed Guardian Tower by at least 50 feet. The tower could not be seen through the explosive cloud. The blast was seen all across Battleon. When the dust cleared, the places were the Guardian's were standing were merely pools of blood. The trim had been blown off the tower. Only the foundation stones and a little bit of mortar were still standing. Buildings on both sides of the street from the tower had collapsed from the blast. On the top floor, the Captain could here screams. But the loudest scream was most distinctive.

"Oh my God! Ricobabie! Help, get some water!!"

The Captain turned around to see his men. He knew that underneath their masks, they all had shocked faces.

"Holy shit…"

The Captain did not mind that the explosion was too powerful. But it was still shocking. "Okay, um… Mission start now?"

The Captain and his men began to proceed as planned. They began to divide up into groups, with torches lit, and walked through town. They lit fire to each and every building they saw. They sometimes threw explosives through the windows of more rigid, stone structures. They marched through town, showing no compassion. Not a single soul was spared, and they suffered at the hands of the Assailant's daggers.

As they came around the corner, passing Yulgar's Inn, they saw him. He stood there, in shock. He began to run. No one was stopping him. The assailants kept marching forward, igniting or demolishing buildings.

As they walked down the street, they noticed 2 figures. Warlic and Robina Hood, both had burns on their faces. Robina Hood howled at them. "You silver faced freaks, I'll put in arrow right between the eyes!" She fired an arrow at the Captain. He reacted based on her threat, and given her range he timed it correctly. He caught the arrow by the shaft, merely inches from his face. The kinetic energy within the arrow was immense, his hand stung from catching the thing. But the Captain had created an intimidation method more than anything else.

The Captain threw a ballistic dart at her, pegging her in the right shoulder. She was knocked back, and stumbled. Warlic helped her to her feet, and they fled, knowing they could not win.

Things were going well. Much of the city had been put to the torch. The Captain and his men arrived at the rendezvous point, in front of Aria's pet shop. They walked into the store while Aria was attempting to set some of her pets free to insure their safety. She turned around to see 3 masked men behind her. Her mouth was cover was snapped before she could scream. One of the men kicked her in the kneecap, bending it backward and breaking it. She hollered in pain. They ignited the pet shop and left her for dead.

The Captain walked out of the burning pet shop. "Sir, we've done extensive damage to much of the city. More than we expected to do. We are at the 49 minute mark."

"We were instructed to stay engaged for an hour."

"I think we've done sufficient damage to justify an earlier withdrawl. Besides, the garrison is assembling faster than we planned."

Another assailant butted in, "They're closing the gates. I say we get out now, and sort this mess out later."

The Captain decided that his men were right. They had done way more damaged than they'd dreamed to do. They'd killed many, and raised the kind of havoc Chris wanted. The Captain gave the order to withdraw, and his men began to make their way to the gate…


	12. Act 2: The Subsiding Embers

"The Uncontrollable Fire"

_Chapter 3_

The city of Battleon burned. It burned for a long time. In the calamity, only a few were calm. Only a few stood unfaltering. The men who tore her open with flames…

The Assailants marched, all 200 completely silent. Faceless. Merciless. They marched through a street were the buildings burned. There was no sunlight, the smoke smothered the sun. The only light that could be seen was the glow of the fire in the darkness. The Assailants saw in the dim light their handiwork. The dead, the dying.

The streets ran red with blood and shame. The Assailants marched through their killing fields, looking down on upon the suffering with contempt. The dying would look up at them, begging for death to end the suffering from their wounds. The Assailants scoffed, the suffering were trivial to them.

The Captain looked down on a Dracomancer. The fool was chanting, trying to summon a dragon to his aid. The Captain crouched down, and decided to perform a maneuver on the man. He grabbed the Dracomancer by the neck, and slammed his head against the ground.

The Captain eyed him down, staring into the man's eyes and striking fear and desolation into his heart.

"Bite the curb…"

The Dracomancer looked at him, not understanding the command.

"I said, bite the curb, like you'd bite on a dick you stupid fuck!"

The Dracomancer was afraid, yet he complied with the order. He bit down on the curb on the side of the road. The Captain quickly stood up, and delivered a Curb stomp. He jammed a swift kick into the cap of the Dracomancer's head, and the curb acted like a wedge. The top of his skull was split from the bottom of his head, and blood and gore spurted everywhere. The Dracomancer was still alive for about a minute after the fatal injury. He writhed in agony, and attempted to scream, but all that could come out were jets of blood. The Captain walked away, allowing him to die painfully like all the others, totally ignoring the suffering of his fellow man.

The 200 continued to move forward. Death had no name in this place. The inferno here could appease all the death gods, across the billions of galaxies.

They trudged until they saw a large riot of civilians, attempting to burst through the gate. They were battling with the garrison, who had locked the gate down, and were attempting to defend it. The civilians were all desperate to escape the carnage behind them.

Units of X-Guardians were moving in from behind of the riot, attempting to quell it in a pincer attack. They would be an obstacle to a successful exit.

The Captain got a devilish idea. The rioters and X-Guardians were below them. The city inclined down to that gate with a decent slope. The Captain remembered that they still had two more carts of high-explosive manure…

The Captain gave the order, and one his men set a timer. They flung the cart down the hill with force. It rolled down the hill with speed. The cart impacted with the rear of the X-Guardian flank, and ran over several of them with its tremendous speed. The timer reached zero…

The Captain watched a mighty fireball engulf his enemies. Civilians and X-Guardians alike were blown away. There was devastation everywhere. The crowds of rioters had been vaporized, leaving behind a mist of blood and a stench of manure.

A large group soldiers still stood their ground. The civilians had taken the blast, shielding the soldiers with their flesh. The soldiers were in apparent shock, how could this small group of enemies be inflicting such losses on them?

The Assailants continued their death march. They walked toward the soldiers, unafraid of death. The soldiers were in a better position to defend themselves from a cart being thrown down a hill. Besides, all the blood and scorched flesh would prove an obstacle if they decided to launch a cart remotely.

"Captain, they're backed up against the gate. We'll have to engage them directly."

"Negative, I've got an idea…"

The Colonel of the garrison stared at the blank faces of his enemies. He looked at them hard, and looked their masks. A poker face so clean that they could've played a pair of 2's, and made it look a like a royal flush. The Colonel tried to get some sort of clue as to what their next tactic would be, but he couldn't get anything. General Patton couldn't have figured out what they were doing.

"General Matt, are you sure you're okay to fight? I mean, these guys look pretty dangerous."

He looked over to his right. There stood Matt, his entire body covered in 2nd degree burns, but his anger even greater than the pain he was in. A desire for vengeance more than anything else.

"I'll be fine once I bash all their skulls…"

"Okay, sir, just checking…"

On top of the hill, the Captain was giggling. The maneuver they were about to pull would get out, but it'd be pretty damn hilarious if everything went right.

"Okay, one… two… three."

The Captain and about of dozen of his strongest men began to push the cart down the slope. It flew down just like the one before it. Except for one little twist.

"Wheeeeeeeee!!!" Screamed the rider.

An Assailant had mounted upon the cart, and was riding and controlling its movements as it zoomed. The carts contents, the manure, were currently slow burning. The cart was now basically a flaming bag of cow shit on wheels. The Assailant stood above the flames, balancing on it as if it were a surfboard.

The Colonel was in disbelief, "What in the Hell is this crap? And why does it smell like cow farts?"

The Assailant rode the cart to the bottom, before throwing a strange bottle into the flaming cart. He jumped off, doing a flip through the air, and brought his feet out into a kicking stance beneath him. He landed a hard kick onto the Colonel's breastplate, knocking him down.

Meanwhile, the cart exploded. Only instead of becoming a fireball, it became a flamethrower. Hundreds of pounds of flaming manure rained onto the enemy formation, and stuck like napalm. It lit men on fire right and left, and their heavy metal armor became like ovens, broiling the wearers.

The Assailant, having knocked over the Colonel, turned his attention to Matt. Matt began to draw his claymore, but the Assailant popped him in the lower jaw with his elbow before he could bring out his weapon. Matt stumbled, the blow's typical pain amplified by the burns.

The Assailant turned his attention back to the Colonel. He began to dance, starting with his arms perpendicular to his body. He then took down his forearms and they became a right angle. He began to do the robot. The man jumped in the air, landing on his bottom, and began to do a break-dance spin. He left the spin flawlessly, jumping up and landing on his feet. The Colonel sat up to watch the spectacle. He was met with a ballistic dart to the forehead.

As Matt and the surviving Battleonian soldiers regrouped, they watched the Assailant run off toward his comrades. He screamed an insult to them, "You suck!" before dashing off, laughing all the way. The Assailants marching down the hill even seemed to be in good spirits, chuckling at the stunt.

Matt looked behind him. The gate had caught fire, and the metal reinforcements had expanded from the heat and fell off the door. It seemed pointless to defend the gate, it was collapsing on itself, and the enemy probably had enough explosives to take it down anyway. Matt ordered an advance toward the Assailants. However, a lot of people were burned, and not everyone shared Matt's determination.

Many collapsed in agony before they could even reach the area Matt had instructed. The others were the ones who only had minor burns, but weren't so enthusiastic to fight such an odd foe.

The Captain was excited and anxious. He was about to piss his pants that's how enthusiastic he was. He wanted to kill so badly.

"Men, lets show them our stuff!"

The Assailants divided. Half began to mix in with buildings and cover, hiding. The other half began to charge Matt's line.

Matt ran to the front. He wanted a kill so badly. He had been deprived of kills for so long. He needed to get one now.

"Everyone, brace for impact!"

Matt's formation became tight. They were ready for the assailants to collide with them. They were desperate.

The Assailants leapt, into the air. Yet they did not fall. They soared majestically over the heads of Matt's men. They landed right **behind** Matt's force, in the rear of the formation. They began to slash the exposed backs of soldiers. The formation was too tight. Men could not maneuver to protect themselves from behind. They were being slaughtered. The formation slowly began to turn around, however, and soon the line was able to defend itself.

The second half of Assailants was still at large though. Matt had turned around with the formation, and was slapping himself mentally for choosing to take this position. Now he'd had to sit out to whole fight. Or at least he thought he would. He heard war cries, and turn to see where they were coming from. A soldier in front of him took a boot to the face, and was knocked back toppling both him and Matt.

Matt knew they'd been attacked from the rear again, this time by the second half of enemies. He struggled to stand up. He saw the soldier in front of him attempt to get up, but his throat was slashed before he could do anything. The man gurgled, and fell over on Matt's legs. Pain shot through him.

As Matt winced, he saw the soldier's formation buckle. They'd taken way too much abuse, and were being attacked from both sides. The formation was abandoned, and one-on-one battles ensue.

Matt saw one of his soldiers squaring off against an Assailant. The soldier brought down his long sword in a vertical swing, but the bloodstained daggers of the Assailant caught it. The Assailant launched a kick, catching the soldier in the lower gut. The soldier let down his guard by grabbing his lower torso. The Assailant immediately capitalized, and finished him off by slashing his neck with both daggers. Matt watched at the Assailant put away his daggers, jumped onto and off of the shoulders of his victim and drew a long sword in mid air. And Matt watched as the Assailant swooped down to bring his long sword down upon the back of a hapless soldier.

The Captain of the Assailants stood, long sword drawn, slashing his way through opponents, taking advantage of every moment of weakness. He killed at least 4 with no effort. Then he heard a scream, but it was muffled. It was on of his men. He looked to see an injured man on the ground, with a soldier raising a sword upon him. The Captain threw a dart at the men, hitting him in the back of the head. He ran to the wounded man. His leg had been slashed, he could not walk.

As the Captain pulled him up, and placed the wounded man's arm on his shoulder, a brute-like Guardian attacked him. The Captain parried a few attacks with his long sword. The Guardian swung, never letting up. The Captain was using his left hand; he could not keep up his defense. The Guardian yelped out in pain, and stumbled. The Captain was startled, but he realized that his own wounded man had stabbed the Guardian with his dagger at close quarters.

"I'm still in the fight, sir."

The Captain was proud of his soldier, but he was preoccupied. He pulled what appeared to be a healing potion out of his cloak, and pressed down on the top. He tossed it to the wounded Guardian, who caught it.

"Wow, you'd give me your healing potion, instead of giving to your friend? That's touching. I'll make sure to give you a quick, painless death. I know you won't like it mu-"

The Captain had watched the whole time as the trigger ran out of time. The trigger was to a sinister device. It was a timer-based explosive, disguised as a healing potion. The brute had had fallen for the trick, and now paid the price.

The Captain carried his man to the edge of the street, and placed his back against the wall. The Captain stood in front of him, long sword drawn and at fighting stance. He looked around, and he a soldier charge at him. He swung his sword out to meet a blow from his rival's blade. The enemy soldier backed off after his attack missed, but he whistled. 4 other soldiers walked over, forming a circle around the Captain and the wounded man.

They began to close in. The Captain was unafraid; he kept alert and ready to fight. One enemy attacked too early. He charged straight at the Captain, expect to bring him down with a swift blow. The Captain caught the attack with a sharp horizontal swing, knocking his foe's sword the to the side. The Captain reached to his belt, and pulled out a throwing dagger. He drove it into the area between the man's neck and his right shoulder.

As the Captain stepped back, he found a swing aimed for his head. He quickly brought his long sword around to block. He successfully blocked the sword's swing, but the enemy soldier lunged forward, bashing the Captain in the chest with his shield. The Captain fell against the wall. Now he was backed into a corner, and outnumbered.

He heard a war cry, yet it had a distinct, muffled sound. It was one of his men. He looked to his left to see one of his men running. The man did not go straight; he began to run on the side of the wall. As he ran over the Captain's head, he jumped over the wall and did a back flip through the air. He landed on his feet, behind two enemy soldiers. The Assailant pulled out his daggers, and slit both of their throats simultaneously. Both men fell to the ground, trying to hold in the blood leaking from their wounds.

The other two soldiers were in shock. One turned around to face the Assailant. The Captain seized the moment, and swung a diagonal strike from his right shoulder to the man's back. As the second soldier turned to attack the Captain, he dove headfirst into the ground. The Captain brought around his sword, attempting to block. But there was no attack. The Captain would have been struck if there had been an attack. He realized that someone had killed the poor bastard. He saw a throwing dagger in the man's neck, and realized that the wounded man had killed in him. He looked to his wounded friend, lying against the building. The man looked back, nodding.

The Captain picked up the wounded man, and began to jog to the gate. Much of the fighting had subsided. Many men were already at the gate, the rest of the Assailants were finishing off what few enemies remained. The Captain gave the order, and his men knocked down the burning gates with explosives.

They marched away, into the countryside. About a mile from the city, they stopped. The Captain assessed the day's work. He had suffering one injury, the man he had carried out of the fort, and no fatalities. They killed 416 enemies defending the gate. They killed some 2,300 while burning the city. The three bombs they had used had killed a total of nearly 5,600 people. They had burned some 87 percent of Battleon. 42 percent of the city was damaged beyond repair. Their expectation had only been 30 percent. Today went very well, in retrospect.

The Captain began to ask about Matt's fate. When he heard what happened, he felt remorse. He instructed his men to proceed onward, and eliminate any threat in their way. The Captain turned back to the city, removing his gothic attire.

Frementus Laviat, Fort Applesworth

Frementus stared into the sunset. Another boring day at Applesworth. Applesworth was a garrisoned outpost, a checkpoint in the roads of Lore. Applesworth was better defended than most forts, though. It was positioned along the river, at the shallowest point, where groups of enemies could potentially cross. However, Applesworth's archers kept any enemies at bay.

Frementus stared into the sunset, wondering if anything had really happened today. Intrivus had told him a rumor that Battleon had been attacked, but Frementus had frequently fallen for Intivus's stories, and wasn't gullible enough to believe another one.

As Frementus looked to the west, he heard people talking. He looked toward the southern wall. The men there appeared puzzled. There was some sort of hook on the wall's edge. As one man leaned over the wall to look down, a black hand reached up, and grabbed the startled man. The hand pulled him over the 50-foot walls, and the man plummeted.

The other men were in shock. Then something flew over the wall. A man in a silver facemask and dark clothing jumped over the wall's battlements, and drove a kick into an archer's face. The man brandished two daggers, and brought them into the archer's chest. More odd men, dressed the same way, began to climb over the ways, wielding daggers and long swords. The hook had been a diversion, for silver masked men began to jump over unguarded sections of wall.

Frementus was quivering. He brandished his bastard sword. Two archers who stood next to him fired arrows into the crowd of enemies on the southern wall. The archers's arrows were deflected, and what appeared to be a healing potion was flung at the archers. It flew through the air while the archers looked on in shock. The healing potion landed at their feet. Frementus watched as the healing potion became a fireball that engulfed the archers.

As Frementus's eyes turned to the battlefield on the southern wall, he noticed that the defenders there were all dead. A silver masked man jumped through the air with uncanny acrobatic skill, jumping 30 feet into the air onto a tower. The battlements blocked Frementus's field of vision, but he heard slashing noises, and screams of agony.

Frementus saw another enemy who sprinted across the southern wall. He was headed to the west wall, where Frementus stood. The enemy soldier made a diagonal jump, from the south wall to the west wall. The masked man brought back his sword to his right shoulder, and swung it forward as he flew. The sword collided with a man next to Frementus, killing him. The enemy continued to sweep in an arc, bringing down a second soldier, an archer. The enemy recovered, and turned toward Frementus, his silver mask gleaming, scaring Frementus.

Frementus was too scared to fight. He threw down his sword and shield and began to say to the man, "You don't have to do this. You really don't. I give, you don't have to kill me."

The man lunged forward, head butting Frementus. As Frementus began to step back to regain balance, his throat was caught by the glove of the masked man. The masked man raised Frementus to his feet, and stared into his eyes. Frementus quivered, and attempted to break eye-contact. He looked over the man's shoulder, to see 6 Battleonians charging across the walls. 2 masked men charged the other direction, and engaged them. The 2 masked men made short work of their 6 foes. Frementus looked behind him in the courtyard. Many enemies were in the courtyard, slaughtering the defenders there.

Frementus began to beg, "Please, why are you doing this? Please don't kill me. I don't want to die. Why?"

The Masked Man thought about it, "I'm going to kill you, because I hate you. I hate your kind. I kill MOSSIL like you, because you took my father and mother, who I cared about deeply. You took my two younger brothers, who always had my back and were my best friends. And my King, a good man, who advised us not to go to war with you MOSSIL so we could live in peace. Did you honor that peace?"

The Masked Man then tossed him off the wall, into the courtyard. The whole 50-feet down, the man watched as Frementus screamed in terror. His screams were cut off with a thud. He hit the ground, hard. The Man looked at Frementus's corpse, lying there bug-eyed. As he watched a puddle of blood form around Frementus's back, underneath his mask a cruel smile began to form on his face…


	13. Act 2: Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Matt woke up in bed, wondering if the events that had just taken place were a nightmare. As he rolled over in an attempt to get out of bed, he felt a heavy burning sensation. It was all real.

Yesterday, the attack had destroyed much of Battleon. Many were dead, and the population was in complete shock. They now questioned the leadership of Battleon. They questioned everything. They wondered if they were being lied to about a defensive line along the bridge. They wondered if the world of Lore was doomed. But most of all, they wondered who their attackers were, and if they had a relation with Chris.

But Matt had suffered terribly. He had been burned horribly during the first bombing outside the Guardian tower. He now lay on the top floor. The area was bare, many of the items within the tower had to be removed. The building was largely unstable from the blast. It was lucky to be intact.

Matt had suffered, but he wasn't the worst. He had been on the top floor discussing general strategy to defeat Chris. He had looking out the window and had taken most of the blast. But people on lower floors had suffered far worse, from the blast and the fires.

Matt had still been able to fight. But the worst part, he had a humiliating wound from the fighting. During the fight, he had been fighting a duel against an Assailant. Matt had done well, enough to deserve the man's compliments. But the Assailant upped the ante. He pretended to fall over wounded during the fight. When Matt attempting to finish him with his claymore, he caught the attack with his daggers. While lying on his back, he kicked Matt in the chest, sending him flying. As Matt recoiled from the blow, he slipped, and plummeted down a manhole, down into the sewers.

Matt woke up to see Yulgar weeping, and the other characters of Battleon in tears.

"What happened?"

Yulgar looked up at him. "My apprentice is dead. They killed him. And worse, I gave them asylum. I let them stay in my tavern. It's my fault."

"Yulgar, you'll be fine. We've all had those days. Look, we forgive you."

Matt turned, but everyone was still weeping. "Guys, don't we forgive Yulgar?"

Artix looked up, "That isn't the only problem. Aria is dead."

Matt's face turned pale, and a look of shock enveloped his face. "What?"

Robina spoke, "Yulgar's apprentice found her screaming for help. They had broken her leg and lit the pet shop on fire. He pulled her out of the building, and got some aid from a few soldiers. Two of them carried her here, while a third stayed with him to help him catch his breath. But those bastards, they threw one of those fake healing potions at them. They killed him. It was too late for Aria, anyway. She had inhaled too much smoke, and her body was too weak. She died about a half-an-hour ago…"

Matt's heart was broken. Aria was Aria. She wouldn't hurt anyone. How could they have killed her so mercilessly? How could they end someone else's life like that?

The room was silent for another half-hour. Everyone wept for Aria. She had been murdered, and now everyone felt the loss. In each of their hearts, their was despair, and sorrow, and hatred, and at the very same time, a feeling of mortality. Everyone thought things would go on like this forever. That they'd all be friends and never be separated. Now Aria was gone forever, and everyone felt sorrow. For if anyone deserved death, she deserved it the least.

"How can they do this?" Artix finally spoke up, "These… these butchers, how can they do this without mercy? Why do they show contempt for our lives? Just… just, why?"

Matt regain his own voice, "Will we win? Can we win?"

Aquella butted in, "I don't know, if we do though, will we forgive them? Will we share a world with these sort of people?"

Damani finally spoke his own mind, "Don't look too far ahead. We need some short-term planning before we even begin to think about that kind of stuff. How can we fix our problem?"

Matt finally though about something. He did not mean to change the topic of conversation, but he did and the old conversation came to a stop. "Hey, Warlic. What's going to happen to me? I'll be fine, right."

Warlic's eyes lit up. "Um… whew, I didn't need to be asked that. Okay, I meant to tell you in private, but, do you really want to know now?"

"Yes, I do."

"Matt… there's no easy way to say this. I'll just come out with it. You're going to die."

Matt thought that he had misheard him, "Come again?"

Warlic repeated grimly, "You're going to die."

Matt was hoping this was a cruel joke, "You're… You're kidding, right?"

Ricobabie burst out crying. "Matt… please no… I don't want to lose you."

Matt realized the truth. "Why? Why am I dying?"

Warlic was like the grim reaper, "When you fell into the sewer, your body was covered in bacteria and germs. Now, your skin was burned, leaving it very prone to infection. Your entire body will be overrun with germs in a matter of days. I'm afraid I have no medicine powerful enough to help you. I can only tell you this so you can make peace with whatever gods you choose."

Matt was desperate, "Can you summon a portal to Earth? Maybe we can get some medicine there."

Warlic was stern. "No, time will not work like that. You came here by magical means. Time on Earth, is for the most part, paused until you, Chris, and all your friends return. Time can only pass in short bursts of about 2 or 3 minutes per year until you return. I cannot go to get medicine, for nothing on Terra is in an animated state. Everything is on hold. Now, I'd be more than happy to send you home to restore time. But we'd need Chris to return home as well, and I highly doubt he's willing to defect to save your life."

Matt just plopped down on his sheets. "So this is it, huh?"

Matt had had an eventful day. First he heard with new ears, finding out about Aria's death, and how he'd never been able to say goodbye. Now he was dying.

Everyone in the room was silent. Than Galanoth pointed to the windowsill. "You know, someone left a potion there. I imagine healing potions are commodities right now in Battleon. Somebody might want to claim that."

Artix walked over and picked it up, "It's yours, Matt."

Matt was confused, "What?"

"See, right here? It's labeled."

Sure enough, the bottle was labeled, "To Matt". Matt took the bottle, and peeled off the label. Underneath the adhesive was a folded card. Matt unfolded it and read the message to himself.

_**Dear Matt,**_

_**My name is unknown to you, and my purpose double. But I am a Captain among the Demonic Angels, the unit you fought just a day ago. My men made short work of your army, and burned your city to the ground as we were instructed. Many of my men fought against you Battleonians for a number of reasons. My reasons are personal, but many of my men fought for revenge or for honor. I fight for both of those, but they aren't my motivation. I have wondered to myself, what does a MOSSIL like you think of while he fights? But that is irrelevant. The importance of this letter is, do you want to live? I heard the story of your fight from one of my men. He said you were formidable, and that he barely won. This leaves me interested. So, my question for you. Do you want to live, or do you want to die a slow painful death in bed from a sewage infection? Drink the potion if you would like to go on in life, if now is not your time. But if you think this is a trap, go ahead and die. I don't particular care about the details in your choice. Now, before you discard this bottle, let me ask you something. What do you have to lose by drinking the potion?**_

Matt could not see any holes in that logic. He opened up the cork, and began to drink the potion. Within minutes, he began to feel a kick of energy. It really was medicine! Matt looked into the bottle, and spied a second note. He began to read it.

_**Good choice, MOSSIL. You have spared yourself some agony. Now, here is the deal. I want you to stay alive, so one day, you and I can have a civilized conversation so I can find out what goes through your head, and you can see what goes through mine. Then after that, I challenge you to a duel. I want to see what would happen in a fight between us, and who is the better man. I wish you best of luck in survival, for General Chris is not kind to his vanquished foes. I hope you accept my terms, and one day, you and I will settle our differences like men.**_

Matt finished the note, and began to talk out loud. "You have yourself a deal, Captain."

No one else had seen the note, and they looked at him like he was crazy. Matt laughed, "I'm not going to die! Haha!"

He jumped out of bed, onto his feet, much to everyone's amazement. He began to dance around, and the sorrow began to lift from people's faces in the room. They would not lose him after all.

As Matt pranced around, he sword he saw a shadow in the windowsill. As he looked away, he saw something swoop past the window in the corner of his eye. Matt ran to the window, to see a shady looking figure, dressed in a black cloak, sprint through the alley below. He darted past Guardian tower toward the gate. The Assailant Captain. Matt noticed that he did not wear a facemask, but Matt did not get a good look at his face.

"Well, stranger. You've got yourself a deal. Someday, we'll settle this man to man."

Matt watched as the only worthy foe he every had walked through the gates, back to his home territory. Matt turned to the other leaders of Battleon, and smiled. They began to discuss the fate of Lore once more…


	14. Act 3: Prologue pt 1

"Clashes of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Prologue, Part 1_

The tower was barely standing. But that did not scare its occupants. Guardian Tower had undergone a few repairs in the last month. But its still felt like it was about to topple over at any second. Yet the occupants of the Tower did not mind. It was the first intelligence briefing for the counter-offensive. It had been nearly one month since the burning of Battleon. The "secret" that they had new Intel on the enemy had "accidentally been leaked" to the general public, which had in fact raised the mood. They were now strategizing, trying to figure out how they would push the 'Galin's armies back. I

They had three things to figure out. First off, their strategy. They needed to know how and when to engage. Second, they needed to now tactics, because if they lost every engagement, it wouldn't matter how well they planned. Third, logistics. Logistics were vital to fighting; they'd be destroyed if they could not maintain an army. And Logistics would be difficult if they planned an invasion. They could only send a limited amount of supplies over the river at one time. And their supply line would be easy to cut off, so it would be vital to defend it.

The Intel briefing was placed in front of Warlic, he was about to pee himself from excitement. They'd finally know what was going on behind enemy lines! Warlic opened up, and read a few pages. He seemed impressed, or shocked. Whichever one he really was did not matter, it mattered that the material was awe-inspiring.

"So, apparently, they have an organized Intelligence department, and a chain of command. It isn't just one whole army reporting to Chris. There are several organizations in the system."

"The Limineti, who are the acting National Guard, are where they put defectors. They keep them separate from the field army, because they want encouraged soldiers to be their front line. They don't want their assault force to be afraid to kill their brothers…"

"Next we have… Earax spearmen, their standard infantry force. These are the men we encountered at Ebretman Hill. These soldiers are versatile, able to take on one of two different roles. They can be deployed offensively, or defensively. They are slow and thorough…. Fuck this, where's all the dirt? I know all this shit already!"

He began to skim. "Ahh… Okay, central command structure for their 'cloak and dagger' stuff is COIN. Stands for Covert Operations and Intelligence Network. They manage a number of units. Commissioned by Chris 7 months ago, rumored to have trained the Arcanii. COIN performs a number of tasks. They operate independently, but they have to run everything they do by General Chris before they launch an Op. He has the right to alter the game plan in anyway he sees fit. Although, the document hints he may have been the one who set up the attack on Battleon to begin with."

Artix was getting impatient of just listening. "Can I please read this?"

Warlic passed him the paper, "Most certainly."

Artix began to read aloud, "Not much Intel can be collected on COIN, numerous field agents went missing while investigating. Rumor has it that, blah blah blah… hit squads?!?... Assassinations?!?... Sniper took out head of COIN investigation on the 17th… Damn, this is some heavy shit right here!"

Warlic spoke back, "Yeah, we don't know much about COIN. I think they prefer it that way, judging by their reaction to our investigation…"

"Yeah," Artix murmured, "No knowledge of enemy plans. Anyone who found out was terminated before Intel could be turned over. They're a secretive bunch."

"Yeah, no shit. Anyway, there's also a reference to something called 'The Old Guard'. Apparently, the organization has a number of older units that existed before Chris arrived under its command. The Agents who investigated it are all MIA."

"Ohh…"

Matt came in "How much of this is relevant? It tells of enemy command structure. What do we know about their movement?"

Warlic spoke, "Hmm… Doesn't say much on enemy garrisons. Only hints the locations of a few large ones."

Galanoth was annoyed, "This is underwhelming. How many agents did we lose to get our hands on this?"

"116."

"It wasn't worth it at all. The report is pretty ambiguous on the stuff we just found out about."

"Well, it sure ain't ambiguous about how many agents died." Artix had his say, "Read here."

Galanoth picked up the scrolls, and read about the assassination of several operatives on the 17th.

2 Weeks Ago

Corporal Hverdas picked up the crossbow. To his left stood Corporal Mikels, his acting spotter. They were an elite. They were "Urban Marksman" for the Comanseti. They were basically sharpshooters; their job was to pick off enemies in scenarios like this. They were instructed to kill targets from a distance, and then to get the hell out of there. Today though, they had the privilege of killing an important target. COIN itself had planned the operation, and had received the utmost blessings from Chris.

They both stood atop a roof in the Valleymen Capital of Summits-Word. Comanseti "Urban Marksmen" unit was largely unproved, taking a handful of men from the artillery corps who had a high level of experience with projectile weapons. Out of 540 men, Hverdas was performing the 6th mission in the unit's existence.

Today, it would be one shot, per kill. Hverdas might have to shoot more than one enemy. His crossbow was a dual-lever action model, with very high power. It could fire a 19-inch bolt up to 300 yards with devastating stopping power and accuracy. It was still accurate up to 400 yards, if there was a good marksman using it.

Hverdas had been chosen because he was good at handling situations where there would be civilians. He had been instructed on his primary target, and knew to kill him first before he attacked anyone else. Hverdas stood atop the roof, waiting for them to pass.

A street level spotter gave a signal by taking off his hat and putting it to his chest. He was the third member of any team. The team operated with one man close to the target, either armored or in plain clothes, who'd give the signal when they were near the target or had a shot. The spotter was responsible for finding and acquiring the target, and giving advice to the shooter. The shooters job was simple. Shoot the bastard, preferably in the neck. Hverdas saw the signal, and loaded a clip into his crossbow magazine.

(Okay, for those of you who just got confused by the last sentence, I want to make some discrepancy. A clip and a magazine are two totally different things. A magazine is a place where rounds are stored in a weapon, to be ready for firing. A magazine can be built inside a weapon, or be an external magazine like the thing you typically call a clip. What a clip REALLY is is a device that aids in the loading of rounds into a magazine, specifically an internal magazine.)

(For instance, in World War 2, many armies used a device known as a strip clip. A strip clip is a piece of metal shaped to hold five rounds on it, which would be inserted into a rifle when it needs to be reloaded. This saved a lot of time in a firefight; otherwise each round would have to be individually loaded. And yes, an external box magazine doesn't constitute a clip because that's where rounds are stored for firing. So… let's recap. A clip is a device built to aid with the insertion of rounds into the magazine. The magazine itself is where rounds are held to be ready for firing, regardless on its position on the weapon. I want to clear this up, cause it really PISSES ME OFF when you all call a magazine a "clip" and vice versa. Thank you for sparing what little attention you have, because I know your mom forgot to pick up your Ritalin from CVS today. Okay, I'm through lecturing, back to the damn story…)

So, anyway, Hverdas placed a clip into the underside of the crossbow, loading 6 rounds into the magazine. Hverdas pulled back the upper-level, bringing back the bowstring into a firing position. He then pulled back the lower string, placing a bolt into firing position. With the crossbow loaded, Hverdas shouldered the weapon, and stared down the mounted optic sight. It was a crude device, a shaped piece of glass that only magnified a target 4x. But, it was effective considering all the other technologies available.

Hverdas looked down the optic sight. His finger shaking with excitement, he began to feel along the trigger guard. He rubbed his finger up and down on it, he felt his pulse. It was fast; his breathing was quick and shallow. He had killed numerous monsters, but he had never killed a human being. He wanted his first kill so badly. He didn't care where he hit, as long as it killed. But the night before, he prayed hard for a neck shot. Hverdas had hoped he could hit there. But any kill would suffice.

Mikels stared through a pair of field glasses. He was trembling as well; it would be his advice that would guide the day. And in this environment, a mistake meant the target would escape, and an innocent person would be killed. Mikels finally indicated that he had spotted the target. He guided Hverdas to him.

Hverdas took aim. His gaze down the sight was filled with intensity. He finally caught up to the man, and placed his crosshairs on the mans neck.

Mikels began to make calculations for wind, range, and elevation using his field glasses. He called out his values to Hverdas. Hverdas adjusted his sights to match these numbers. He had his optics correct. Now, wherever he placed his crosshairs, a bolt could hit that exact spot. He could shoot a gold piece out of the air if his timing was right.

Hverdas lined up for the shot. Only this first shot mattered. This one had to hit. It would need to be a hit. The mission depended solely on a hit. Hverdas saw his target walk. Sweat ran down his forehead as he concentrated. He kept the crosshairs following him, keeping on him at all times.

Hverdas quickly brought himself to a crouching stance, to stabilize his aim. He spoke to his spotter, "I'm entering firing stance, call me."

His spotter nodded, and crouched as well. Hverdas held his breath, and began to lead off his target. He already knew the man's movement patterns, he saw how he walked. He led him off exactly. He placed his finger on the trigger. He kept the trigger partially depressed; the pressure exhibited from a hair could set off the weapon. Hverdas had mentally blocked out all other noises in the streets, but a shout from Mikels would make him fire. He was fidgety.

Mikels followed the man's footsteps. As the man approached a small area where there were no people, Mikels screamed the magic word. "Fire!"

Hverdas pulled the trigger completely. The bowstring flew forward in a split second. It brought the bolt with it. As the bolt took flight in a lightening fast pattern, it began to spin in the air. The spinning stabilized the bolt; it provided stability and kept the round accurate. It zoomed, traveling almost as fast as sound. But from the viewpoint of an onlooker, it looked faster than light. The bolt flew straight and true, penetrating flesh. It was a direct hit to the neck of the target.

The man began to stumble. Blood gushed from the wound, and he fell to his knees. He gasped for air that would never come. He was in suffering, and was dying. Hverdas felt no remorse. They had felt no remorse for his sister as they tore open her body and took away her innocence right before his eyes. They tore open his mother as well. They killed his mother, and his sister committed suicide soon after. Hverdas felt a joy that many men never felt in their lives. The joy of bittersweet justice.

Hverdas pulled back both levers on his crossbow, he still had other targets. Three men stood in shock over their friend, and a frightened crowd looked at the dying man. One of the man's friends ran toward him and dropped to his knees next to him, trying to help his dying compatriot. Hverdas showed him no compassion. He quickly let off another round, without Mikels's instructions. He took the second man's life with a shot the chest, and rearmed his weapon.

The other two men began to run. With Mikels's help, Hverdas readied his aim, and fired off a bolt at one of the fleeing men. It struck the man in the back. Hverdas went prone as he rearmed his weapon yet again. He had much better control of his aim. He got a bead on the second target, and fired. The bolt struck the man in the back of the head, and he fell to the ground. The crowd was in shock, with people fleeing every which way.

The ground spotter gave a signal. There was a fifth target, standing near an alleyway, looking shocked over the deaths of his friends. Mikels's guided Hverdas to the man. Hverdas took aim. The man began to run. The fifth target was completely exposed. The crowd was fleeing from the alley, and soon he'd be dead. Hverdas was about to pull the trigger, but then he realized. He'd have to readjust his sights, because the wind had picked up. Hverdas decided to call it a day. The target would get away before they could adjust the sights.

Hverdas gave a signal to his ground spotter, and the man began to walk away. Hverdas picked up his crossbow, unloaded the magazine, and stored the crossbow in his weapon satchel. When he finished, he turned to see Mikels's finishing packing up his equipment. They both walked down stairs, and met their scout in the street. They were too excited after the days events to talk. They decided to go back to their regimental HQ, to report the kills and the aftermath of the day…


	15. Act 3: Prologue pt 2

"Clashes of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Prologue, Part 2_

Galanoth raised his head in amazement. The tale was unbelievable. The Sniper had killed 4 targets in less than one minute, and had used an advanced aiming device.

"Matt," Galanoth spoke in an urgent tone, "What sort of technologies are people of your time capable of? The snipers have advanced techniques and weapons. The enemy fights differently than any army we've seen."

Matt wasn't sure what to say to that. "We're capable of a lot of things in my time. We've built flying machines, firearms, guided missiles, and computers. I don't think he's capable of building any of those, though."

Artix was distressed. "He has a fascination with engineering weapons of destruction. I'd say he's capable of making some of those things."

Everyone was silent. No one knew what to say. Matt spoke, "Sitting here in fear is not going to change our fortune. Sitting here, with our heads up our asses won't change what he's capable of. We need to plan for the present, and end the war before it's too late."

"Excellent point, Matt," Damani said. "I heard one of Chris's lectures. There are three schools behind planning war. Logistics, tactics, and strategy. There are also fronts. Now, lets analyze what land the enemy possesses. The island that they own is divided by the sea and a large river. The river only has one crossing point for armies, which we dominate."

Artix spoke, "Their coastline is large."

Warlic chuckled at the simple-minded comment. Matt was annoyed, "That isn't funny Warlic. It's truth though. The coast is very large. Probably hard to defend. If we could land troopers there, we could storm the beaches."

Yulgar then commented, "We'd need supplies though. Our armies would be isolated."

Robina spoke, "The bridge on the river is pretty narrow, but if we got control, we'd be able to move supplies across without issue."

Warlic now though about it, "So, does anyone know where Captain Rhubarb is? If we can contact him, we can have him and his fleets land on the left coastline of the enemy territory. We can perform a simultaneous attack on the bridge to have a clear supply route to support our men. After that, it should be a clear push."

Artix was smiling, "Things are looking up. Well, we don't have a clear picture on enemy manpower, although estimates indicate they have some 150,000 ground troops on station. There's no reference to an organized Navy, so landings should be easy. The main problem would be attacking the enemy coastal forts without catapults."

The room thought about it. Another pause as everyone thought to overcome the problem. "Here's a thought," said Matt, "Why don't we besiege all of our enemies? We send in a first wave of troopers to besiege and maintain a perimeter. The second wave will be heavier soldiers, with the needed artillery?"

The suggestion was met with applause. Over the next half hour, plans were drawn up. Ideas flew around the room to supplement their battle plans. The plan was finally constructed.

The plan was simple. A force would attack the bridge, and rout the enemies on the other side to form a foothold. An earlier attempt to do so had been sloppy and a failure. This time though, they had a better idea what they were up against. Then, the ships would launch to capture the enemy coastline. They'd land, and make an attempt to capture the forts. Once the forts were secure, the entire army would alternate moving supplies over the bridge one day, and moving forces the next. When enough troops were in place, they'd begin a march across the enemy territory, and battle it out.

Each person at the meeting was given a job. Robina Hood was in charge of reconnaissance and intelligence to supplement the field armies. Matt and Damani were teamed together and given 80,000 men to secure the bridge with. Warlic was to devise plans to fight land engagements against Chris's field armies, and to study enemies tactics for loopholes. Artix and the Paladins with the aid of the surviving Truthseekers would make strategic decisions and allocate resources from Battleon. Yulgar was named Head Quartermaster, he would be responsible for the use of resources and of getting supplies and weapons to troops. Galanoth was given a force of 100,000 to take the beaches and forts with. Captain Rhubarb was the naval commander, he'd land the men for the beach storming.

The plan seemed perfect. It was foolproof. But there was one flaw. It was not how they designed the plan, it was how the plan was expected to be executed that was the problem…


	16. Act 3: A River of Red

"Clash of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Part 1_

Matt stood atop the hill, feeling the wind brush past him. However, he suddenly felt a strange feeling of Déjà vu. (See part 1 of each act if you don't get it). It did not matter though. He felt like he was on cloud 9.

He looked below, at his camping army. He had looked at his own mistakes since Ebretman Hill. First off, his army was exhausted before they even engaged. He had rushed into battle without giving his men sufficient rest. Tonight they would camp, though. They had no fear of a night attack, either. Matt had divided his army. 60,000 men within the main force, with another 20,000 as reservists. Damani, leading the reservists, had deployed nearly half his men on one side of the bridge to provide security while Matt and his army slept.

Matt had gotten a fair amount of sleep. They had rehearsed the battle plan. The enemy had been caught off guard. There had only been a handful of enemy soldiers ready to respond to Matt's forces. Robina Hood had reported that some 12,000 enemies were back in Summits-Word providing security after a rumor started circulating about rogues in the city. The rumor was conveniently started by the Battleonians, and COIN had eaten that shit up, recalling numerous soldiers.

The enemy border guard was small, nearly 20,000 men at most. Only about 13,000 of those were infantry, with 3,500 archers, 900 skirmishers, and 2,000 assorted cavalrymen. The remaining 600 were Comanseti from the nearby fort that Corvitos had seen some months ago.

Matt's men were well rested, and ready to move across the bridge. They outnumbered their enemies 3 to 1, more than enough to win by brute force. Plus, their foes didn't look too confident. By the time Matt's army had finished breakfast, it looked as if the enemy line was about to buckle. As Matt looked to the distance though, a large group of horsemen had arrived. A General had arrived.

"Crap," Matt spoke aloud. "Is that who I think it is? Someone go find out who the enemy commander is."

Within a half hour, a soldier returned to Matt. "Sir, the enemy General is Chris. Some of our Scout-Snipers attempted to sneak across the bridge. But enemy sharpshooters picked 2/3 of them off, and told the rest that Chris was in charge."

Matt was angry. Once the word got around, his men would feel panic. Chris's reputation could scare the horns off of Satan.

Matt finally decided to give a speech, "Men, I'm sure you all know that today, we fight the most deadly of our foes…"

With those words, Matt's men began to murmur amongst one and other. Matt continued.

"Well, I don't think he's that tough. Ebretman Hill was an enemy fantasy. You all have to water down your fear, and cross that bridge."

Matt's men were in a little bit of shock. Matt had made the wrong word choices. Matt slapped himself mentally. His men weren't scared though, just taken back by the words he used just then.

Matt's men shrugged it off. Half an hour passed, during which they armed themselves to the teeth. They gathered their finest weapons, and their greatest quality armor. This would be a moment of glory for all of them.

Matt's Army formed a column, 50 men wide. That was the width of the bridge, the most men it would support. This was it, the final advance. This would be a deciding moment in the war. The army marched across the bridge. The huge stone guardrails kept them safe from a plunge, but it kept the fighting plane linear.

The first wave of enemies charged. They weren't normal enemies though. They looked more like brawlers than warriors. They had a less stocky build than the Valleymen. Matt suddenly realized. These were the Limineti, the defectors. The traitors of Battleon. This was not an actually attack though. Matt saw his army's mood sink. They would be fighting their brothers in close quarters. They'd be fighting their own flesh and blood. This was just a psychological move.

The Limineti fought for nearly 2 hours. They were slightly better trained, and more intense in combat. Still, their insignificant numbers, paltry 10,500, barely held back the flood of soldiers under Matt's command. They killed a mere 11,000 before being wiped off the map. The Limineti here were undone. But here stood the challenge. Behind them were some 1,500 Earax spearmen. They were deployed in their infamous phalanxes.

The Earax spear wall did not deter Matt. "Forward March!" His men burst forward, attempting to break the phalanx by ramming it. The wall held. Spears flew from it, slaying thousands. The 1,500 Earax were doing well…

Chris was worried. He actually believed defeat was more than just a possibility. He had several phalanxes of Earax deployed along the bridge. The phalanxes were deadly efficient, but they would not hold indefinitely. The spearmen would get tired, or a hole might develop in their lines. Either way, they'd eventually lose their position. Chris honestly thought he'd have to use a last resort. The Assailants were in the area, he was afraid he'd have to destroy the bridge using their expertise. But that would not stop the Battleonians, it would only deter them. There were other points narrow enough to cross. And the thought of someone defeating him in battle would destroy his image as a demon, and he would be undone.

Chris was honestly afraid. If he lost the war, who knew what he'd be subjected to. Who knew what the Valleymen, who he'd come to admire and love, would go through? Chris did not want to lose the fight. He had earned a ticket home after Ebretman Hill, but he stayed to help the Valleymen.

Hours passed. The fighting was intense. Two of the phalanxes had finally been broken. The third held valiantly. Matt knew he'd be subjected to this for hours more without an attempt to break the stalemate. Matt could not use archers. His infantry were not magically immune to their allies' arrows, and they couldn't pull back. The entire column would be massacred before they'd backed up halfway.

On the frontline of the phalanx, the Valleymen fought with distinction. But they hardly cared for the enemy. They just continually pummeled their enemies with spear after spear.

Sergeant Yopmor was talking to Corporal Frango, who stood to his left. They were both in the fifth line of the phalanx. They weren't seeing any action. And it was frustrating.

Yopmor was a heavy built man, built almost like a gorilla. He had seen action at Ebretman Hill. But unlike any other soldier in this army, he did not come with a motive of vengeance or of justice. He came because he was a psycho. He was bloodthirsty. He hungered for the opportunity to kill.

"Damn, I hate the phalanx!" Yopmor declared angrily.

"Why?" Frango responded.

"Cause only the first four rows get any action unless the phalanx is collapsing."

"We'll get plenty of action, we just got to wait."

"Why do you think?"

"Cause the bastards in the front will tire out at some point and fall back!"

Yopmor chuckled. "Hey, Reduy," He screamed to a soldier in the front. "How many you got?"

Reduy responded. "I've been tallying it up, give me a few minutes."

Over the next several minutes, Reduy slowed down his butchering. Several times he lost count because "Some stupid motherfucker attacked me."

He finally got a count, "I got 96 dead MOSSIL so far…"

Yopmor laughed, "96? Is there in arrow in your arm? I'd have killed at least 150 if I was up there."

As the phalanx inched forward, Yopmor heard cries underneath him. A wounded Paladin, who was covered in blood from an open spear wound. Yopmor chuckled some more. The Paladin looked at him.

"Death-" the Paladin began to wheeze and cough up blood, "Death isn't something to laugh at. I don't deserve death, either."

Yopmor spit on him, "I laugh at Death. I crave death. In my opinion, there ain't enough death to go around. Should be like a plague, instead of a common cold. And you," Yopmor chuckled, a bloodthirsty grin taking his face, "You'll make a great first victim. So pathetic, and innocent looking. I hope you have a family, so someone will weep extra hard."

Yopmor put his foot to the Paladin's neck. The Paladin looked like he was about to beg for his life. The Paladin attempted to reach out to the man, but he was in anguish. And Yopmor enjoyed every second. Yopmor pressed his foot down, stomping on the man's neck. The Paladin struggled as Yopmor choked him. Yopmor suddenly took off the pressure, allowing the Paladin to breathe.

"I am glad that you have seen the light, and know remorse. Please stop this-"

Yopmor brought down his foot harder than before. The man's neck snapped. Yopmor began to look down at his fallen foe. He began to laugh. The man had died with his eyes open, and the corpse was staring right in Yopmor's face. Yopmor just laughed at the stupid bastard. First kill of the day, a cowardly righteous Paladin. Yopmor just wished that he had had better boots, then he could have crushed the man's face in.

Matt was distraught. He was loosing so many men trying to cross the damn bridge. Chris had yet again exploited the terrain. Those spearmen had no exposed flanks. Matt could attempt a missile attack using his reserve. But he'd effectively wipe out his main army in the process. But he had an idea. He knew now how he would win.

They came from the shadows. They were the masters of stealth warfare. They wanted blood, for Master Elizabeth had met an unworthy fate. She had died at the hands of these men when they seized the lands across the river. And now all that they wanted was to lay a pile of corpses at the base of Mount Daijin. They were suicidal. Depression and anger had gripped their ranks, and now the desire for vengeance was greater than a desire to survive.

They sprinted across the bridge's stone guardrails. They kept their balance in stride. They were not afraid of anyone below. They did not care who they killed, friend or foe. To them, success was measured not in miles, but in gallons and pounds.

So here they ran, toward their foes. Life was coming to an end for many of them. But that no longer mattered. The thought of the river beneath them running red was all that mattered.

Yopmor looked to see dark figures sprinting along the Guardrails. Rushing toward him were dark figures. He knew who they were.

"Damn Ninjas…"

The came at great speed, toward Yopmor and his men. He pulled his spear back, into lashing stance. He held it over handed, the spear's shaft parallel to his head. He knew it would grant him better accuracy, for his targets would be hard to hit without it.

A lone Ninja sprinted across the rail, without a moment's pause. Yopmor took aim, and lashed forward. It caught the ninja in the arm, and knocked him over. The ninja lost his balance, and plunged into the icy waters below.

Yopmor looked up to see a ninja leaping at him. Yopmor thought this was the end. He could not react fast enough. But Yopmor had a savior. Corporal Frango thrust his spear in line with the chest of the Ninja. The Ninja's momentum impaled him on the spear. The Ninja twitched in pain for a few moments. Then he stopped. He lay limp upon the spear, arms down.

Frango cursed, the Ninja was deep on the spear; he could not be tossed off. Yopmor laughed at the Ninja's corpse as if it were the funniest thing he ever saw. As his laughter passed, he positioned his spear and nudged the Ninja's cadaver off Frango's.

His mind raced. He watched the Valleymen nudge his friend's corpse off the spear. It disgusted him. Them, and everything they did disgusted him. Their senseless murder of his fellow Ninja. They would pay. This Ninja had been very close to Elizabeth. They'd been lovers around the time of her death. And he was the most angered of all the Ninja.

He sprinted faster than he ever had. These men were tough and heavy. If he threw them off balance, they would fall. His plan was all based on the expectation that one of them would attempt to impale him when he leaped. If they failed to counter-attack, he might accidentally kill himself. His chances of survival, even if things went according to plan, were slim. It did not matter. He'd soon meet with Elizabeth in whatever afterlife awaited him.

He made a leap of faith. They did what he wanted them to do. They placed the spear in his path. He leaned out of the way, and held out his arms. The spear missed, and the Ninja held out his arms, and grabbed the spear. He spun around its shaft, and launched a kick to the back of an Earax Spearman's head.

The man fell forward, bringing all his weight with him. He lost balance, and came crashing down to the ground. His body crashed into the body of a nearby spearman, who toppled over as well. The tight formation would not hold in place if one man fell over abruptly. Men fell to the ground left and right. They crashed to the ground as the entire 500 man phalanx collapsed on its own weight.

The Ninja managed to land on his feet. It was not easy, but he did it. As stood up, a hand shot out and grabbed his leg. It was the man he kicked over. The hand pulled him down on the ground. The hundreds of men lying on their backs stared at him coldly. The Ninja grimaced as he rolled on the ground, but he decided to accept his fate as the men drew their short swords, and cut him to pieces.

Matt's army was delighted. They had watched the most difficult of the 3 phalanxes toppled by one Ninja. It empowered them to see such a sight. The spear lay on their backs. They were like turtles, unable to rise to their feet when like this. The charged toward the exposed spearmen, and began to slaughter them where they lay. Only a handful of spearmen could defend themselves, but they could take down one or two enemies before death.

Yopmor was angry. He had watched himself be knocked over by a 130-pound shrimp. He was pissed. And he watched all the men around his being stabbed on their backs. Pathetic. Yopmor grasped up his spear, but did not raise it yet. What happened next was almost like a dream.

"Hey assholes! Come get me!"

Some heard him, and ran at him with a sword raised over his head. Yopmor raised his spear at the last moment to have his assailant ran onto the spear's tip. Yopmor recovered, and launched another thrust. He caught a foe in the upper chest, knocking him back. An enemy began to approach him, but there was no time to pull the spear tip out and gore the approaching soldier. Yopmor spun the spear around, catching the oncoming soldier and crushing his skull.

Another enemy came around. Yopmor spun the spear around, but he hit his foe with the bare wood. The man stumbled. Yopmor swung again, hitting the man in the neck and breaking his neck. The wood broke from the impact, and the counterweight end went with it. Yopmor quickly spun around the remainder of the spear and threw it at close quarters, hitting an enemy in the rib cage with the sharp tip.

Yopmor looked to his left to see an enemy jamming his sword in Frango's eye socket. Yopmor was enraged. Him and Frango had been close. He drew his short sword, and slashed the lower back of Frango's murderer. As he slashed, he felt something hard snap. The man's spine.

Yopmor turned to his right, to see a man with a sword over his head, about to bisect Yopmor. He did not give his attacker the opportunity. He jammed his short sword into the man's gut. His would be attacker stumbled back with the sword still in his torso, and a few seconds latter fell flat on his face.

Yopmor saw another attacker. He was not tired of killing. He only wished he had more weapons to spare. He drew his dagger, and jammed it into the man's groin. The man grabbed his wound in pain, leaving his head within arm's reach. Yopmor grabbed him and threw him to the ground. As the man rolled in agony, Yopmor brandished his last resort weapon. The steel spike. He jammed the spike all the way into the man's skull, and left it there.

Yopmor was out of weapons. He threw his shield like a discus at some oncoming enemies. He looked at the sky above him. He saw vultures, a sign that the Earax spearmen had done well. He chuckled once more, but this time it was a deep chuckle. He looked to see a man standing above his head wielding a sword. The sword was raised, but it was pointing downward to be jammed in Yopmor's chest. Yopmor smiled. He laid back, closed his eyes, and in his last few moments he imagined the weeping families of those he had kill. He dreamt of the suffering of mothers…

Chris looked with his own sorrow at the dead men. Each one was a loss for him. He'd miss them all. Yet not all was lost. The enemy's numbers had been reduced significantly. The phalanxes had done their work well. Some 51,000 enemies lay dead from the work of the Limineti and the Earax. But another 9,500 still continued to fight. There was only one unit left available to fight. The Comanseti.

The 600 Comanseti were outnumbered. A stand here meant the difference between victory and defeat. Between life and death. It all came down to this final stand…


	17. Act 3: Heart of a Warrior

"Clash of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Chapter 2_

Shawnvis' mind drifted as he marched toward the enemy. The months had been rough on him. It was now more than 11 months since the terrible day. The day where he had lost everything. Except for hope.

He marched forward, looking at thousands of enemies. They outnumbered the Valleymen army, and death seemed certain. His shield before him, he turned his head to look behind him. He saw Chris, the commander. Chris fascinated him, because Chris was complex. There was a side to him that was relaxed, carefree, and almost stupid. Then there was a quiet side, a side that displayed serious behavior, and was a genius. Shawnvis had seen both sides frequently.

The two Chris' seemed to spawn at the will of their master. Shawnvis had listened to the man speak. He was not terribly charismatic when he took on his serious role, but he was wise and knew the art of war. When he planned for battle, he sprang to life. The map and drawings were like a painting; each detail was sketched out and planned. There was fine detail everywhere. The figures used on the maps were positioned as if life and death depended on it. And when Chris began to orate his plans, they flowed freely like a poem of death and destruction. Shawnvis swore that one such plan reminded him of a haiku.

Shawnvis' mind wondered again. He reflected on the journey he had taken from farmer to warrior. He thought back to his recruitment. He was in the first class of the Comanseti training camp. He had joined Comanseti because he was no good with a spear, and was better as a swordsman. He had wanted to fight to redeem himself. To show his strength and to never be mocked again.

He remembered the hardships of training camp. The first class had been hand selected from the lists of applicants. Only those who would succeed were placed in the first class. The first class as a whole showed impressive performance. No one dropped out and the lowest graduation grade was a B-. Performance wise, Shawnvis was relatively undistinguished in the class, only earning a B and coming out 1278 out of 1500. But he had come out very well liked, even by senior officers.

But he remembered that Chris had given a speech there. And the last words stuck with him.

"You have come here and have been trained to be the greatest conventional fighting unit on Lore. You must remember your duty, though. You will be responsible for the lives of thousands. You will be the hardest line to crack. You must strive to be the best, despite all odds. Others will look to you for leadership when things get rough. You must act with bravery and devotion, because that is what you were trained to do. You are the one. No one else will step up to the plate. You must do what is necessary to win. You all have come a long way in life to end up here, and that is good. But although we've taken a journey of 1,000 miles, we are only a step of the way. The path to success is long and hard. But I trust each and every one of you will help us make it. Every little contribution helps. I want strength in arms, and incredible courage to lead the day. A wise man one said, 'It is the duty of the strong to oppose those who threaten the weak.' Let me ask you now. What is your duty?"

It had become Shawnvis' motto. He was not bloodthirsty like his comrades. He only fought against armed enemies. Those who had chosen the path of the warrior. He disarmed civilian enemies who attacked in self-defense. He was an honorable soldier.

Shawnvis had never seen a large battle like this. But he had seen his fair share of horrors. He had grown up in a farming village a few miles south of the large city of Rivermith. Rivermith had a population of 33,000 before the war, with 7,000 inhabitants on the outskirts. Shawnvis lived with his father on the family farm outside the city during the warmer months, while his mother and two sisters lived in the city with his uncle. His mother was an attorney, while his father was a farmer, so she needed to live in the city full-time. His father lived within the city during the cold, unproductive months, vending crops.

Shawnvis was a shy, quiet boy. He did not introduce himself to people, but he was respectful to everyone he knew and came to be well liked. He loved nature, and spent much of his time outdoors. He would examine the pristine beauty of nature in between his chores. He was an expert on plants and farming.

He was very peaceful, even more peaceful than the majority of Valleymen. This was to his father's delight. His father was a member of the local militia, but he did not like fighting. And he was especially proud of a son who hated fighting more than him. Shawnvis' peacefulness a virtue amongst his people.

He grew to be tall, strong, and handsome. He was the fancy of many women in the village, but he did not reciprocate their affections. He came to be friends with many of them, but he truly cared for Her. He had grown up loving Her. She was not the most beautiful girl, but her face was lovely and he found himself possessed by her. He watched her frolic in the fields with her friends, and she played in the pastures. He thought of a future with her. For years, she was the only thing that he cared about aside from nature.

Life was simple back then. There was no concern for violence or war. But that day came. A little less than a year ago, he had heard talk of war. When he heard the fighting had gotten close to Rivermith, his father had gone with the local militia to fight, while Shawnvis stayed at the farm. A week after his father went to fight, two men came to the door of his farm.

11 Months, 2 weeks, and 6 days ago

The knocking grew louder and more frequent as Shawnvis came to answer the door. He ran from the kitchen of his cottage to the door and opened it to find 2 men. One was stocky and muscular and dressed in fine armor, while the other was dressed in wizard's robes.

The stocky man spoke first, "Hello, my name is Dale, and this is Freedrick."

The robed man gave his greeting before Dale continued.

"Is this by any chance the residence of Shawnvis?"

"Why, yes it is. Please do come in!"

They walked into the parlor of the cottage, and Shawnvis spoke.

"Dale, you're dressed in armor, and are carrying a lot of weapons. You also have a very distinctive scar on your face. I assume you fought with the militia."

"Yes, I did."

"Well, how did the fighting go?"

"It was… oh, cut the crap!"

Shawnvis was appalled with his guest's sudden rudeness. But he caught himself.

"Excuse me?"

"I fought with the combined armies of Lore, for the wellbeing of Battleon. You scumbag Valleymen were crushed. Utterly beaten. No one survived!"

Shawnvis realize within a second that they came with the terrible news.

"And I want to tell you, Shawnvis, that we control the city of Rivermith. Therefore, we own this land. The land is being given to the Guardian benefactor Freedrick. And it is his choice what happens to you."

"Well, Shawnvis. I will allow you to stay, but you must produce the crops of my choice, and you must give me 70 of what you grow. By the way, you seem like a nice young man. I'm sure my daughter would love you. You will marry her, and make me a grandfather. You understand?"

"70? I don't know if I'll be able to live off that. And also, I don't want to marry your daughter."

Freedrick became enraged. He stood up, and cast a painful spell upon Shawnvis. Shawnvis fell to the ground in pain. Dale grabbed him, and dragged him through the house onto the front porch, and kicked him in the face. Blood gushed from Shawnvis' nose.

Freedrick walked out onto the porch, and glared at Shawnvis.

"If you'd like it that way, fine. Leave, and never return!"

Shawnvis looked up to Dale. Dale looked down, and spit on him.

"You damn scumbag! I killed your father! See this scar, on MY FACE?"

Shawnvis looked to it.

"Your father tried to kill me with his pathetic short sword. Well, guess what? I ripped it out of his puny arms with my bare hands!"

Dale opened his right hand. Shawnvis looked in the palm to see a large scar, one that a short sword would leave. The hand swung forward and hit Shawnvis in the side of the head.

"And do you know what I did? I throttled him! I throttled him good! So good, that his puny neck broke under the pressure, and every one of his last moments was pure agony!"

Shawnvis began to weep as he heard these words. He did not want to hear them. Dale was trying to torment him with this tale. Shawnvis heard a clang and saw a sword in a sheath. The hilt bore his father's name in calligraphy. It was his father's weapon. Shawnvis began to weep harder.

Dale scoffed at him. "You're just as weak as your father. He begged for mercy, and cried like a woman just like you. My only regret is that his neck cracked so soon, so I could've increased his suffering to end his miserable life!"

Shawnvis began to weep harder, and he picked up his father's sword.

Dale laughed a him. "Aww, how cute. You think that your sorry self could kill me? You pathetic scoundrel? Well, you do have a lot of muscle; I'll give you that. But your heart is flimsier that a wet piece of parchment. All the better for me to rip it out of your chest!"

Shawnvis continued to weep. Dale continued.

"You know what? I feel sorry for making you so sad. Why don't you keep that sword? That way, you can end your own sorry life!"

Shawnvis could not stand the abuse. He got to his feet and began to run. He ran as hard as he could. He saw many of his friends. Many of them were crying. But then he began to see a mound in front of him. It was a mound of bodies from people in his village who were murdered. Near it stood a couple dozen Battleonians.

Shawnvis saw Her near the mound. Her beautiful eyes had tears dripping from them. Shawnvis walked to her. He was still crying, but she was suffering.

"Why are you crying? It is discouraging to see a beauty in distress."

She looked to him, a slight smile forming across her face from his words. But she continued to cry. As she wept, she finally raised her arm and pointed. Shawnvis saw a thrashed body being thrown on the pile. He was shocked when he remembered and realized that was her father. Shawnvis got closer, and placed his hand on her shoulder.

He whispered in her ear, "I lost my father too."

She looked to him, and said back, "Farm boy, I weep for more than just my father. I weep for all on the mound. But I thank you. Please help me mourn the fallen."

For a few minutes, Shawnvis felt sorrow and cried with Her. As he mourned all who had fallen, he looked to nature. He looked to the fields, and the forests. Nature seemed to mourn with him because nature was unnaturally quiet. The trees seemed to slump over, like a man would slump his head in respect at a funeral. The fields of wheat stood still, in a respectful pause. The creatures of the forest looked sad, but not pessimistic. He realized as he looked. Life would go on at some point, and not everyone could stay in mourning forever.

The silence was broken by a despised voice.

"Hey look, its Shawnvis. Coming to cry like a woman near the piles of dead. How wonderful! Oh, look who we have here."

He looked to Her.

"Well, take a look at this. Shawnvis has a whore to satisfy him. Bet you love riding his cock, don't you? Well guess what, you stupid whore?"

She began to cry harder as Dale began to abuse her emotionally. She felt fear and intimidation. But Dale would not let up.

"You know what? I killed your father. I killed him. I cut him to pieces with my sword. And even after he fell, I kept hacking him to pieces. What do you think of that? I loved to hear him cry in agony. I loved it so much! Now I have a gift for you."

Dale drew his sword. There was still blood on it. Her jaw dropped in disgust. This was her father's blood. Dale pulled a cloth from his equipment. He pointed his sword's tip at Her face. She cried out in terror, thinking he would stab her. But he could do worse. He took the rag, and ran it down the blood, wiping it clean. The blood flew off it, into Her face. She was in so much shock that she could not continue to weep. She got to her feet, and ran. Dale laughed at her the whole way.

Shawnvis got to his feet. Anger crossed his face. "I want you to stop, now!"

Dale rebuffed. "What makes you think that you will be able to stop me? I am a truthseeker from Battleon. You're just a stupid, smelly Valleyman who lives in a damn cottage. You're worthless!"

Shawnvis drew his father's sword. He was wordless as he removed it from his sheath and ran toward Dale. Dale picked up his own sword one-handed in his right hand. Shawnvis took both hands, and began to swing his blade wildly at Dale. Dale parried effortlessly. After about a minute of Shawnvis' attacks, Dale swung back. He knocked Shawnvis' sword away. He used his knee to strike Shawnvis in his lower gut, and promptly reached out with his left hand. He grabbed the back of Shawnvis' neck, and pulled Shawnvis toward him. Shawnvis flew past Dale from the force of the pull, and landed on his head.

He got to his feet and stumbled. As he realized what was going on, the back of Dale's hand struck him. Blood flew from his face as he recoiled. He realized this whole time his nose had been bleeding, and Dale throwing him made it worse. Dale laughed at him. All the Battleonians began to laugh with him. They laughed at Shawnvis with Dale. And the despair Shawnvis felt in that moment was the exact kind of despair he felt right now as the Battleonians charged at him.

Shawnvis had waited him whole life for this. This was his moment of glory. The Comanseti fought as a whole, but only the front 2 lines would see combat. The rest would merely provide fire support until the real fighting broke out. He waited for the Major's word. Once Major Alasfay gave the order, the entire Battalion would do what it was trained to do.

"Comanseti, firewall formation!"

The order had been given. The front line of Comanseti placed the their elliptical shields down on the ground vertically, parallel to one another. They formed a wall of shields. But the wall was not yet complete. Members of the second line took their shields, and stacked them horizontally on top of the first row. Because of the shield's elliptical shape, the horizontal shield was wide enough to cover the tops of 2 shields. There were still gaps in the wall due to the shield's shape, so other members of the second row placed the shields to fill in the gaps. The wall was 6 feet tall, and basically impenetrable.

Shawnvis could no longer see his approaching enemy, but he knew they were coming. He held onto his shield for dear life. As the enemy came closer, he heard their screams get louder. There was an impact. It was very sudden, and he had to put in all his strength to hold them back. He was tense in that moment. He grunted in agony, there were thousands of enemies pushing against him.

Major Alasfay cried out, "Ready!"

As Shawnvis held his ground, he heard the brandishing of spears. Behind him, 500 Comanseti readied themselves in a spear-throwing stance. Shawnvis watched as they all held their spears near their heads, gazing up over the shield wall. He saw them take aim.

Major Alasfay called out yet again, "Ready?"

He was met with a resounding "Hyie!"

Alasfay continued to speak, "Good, I'm damn proud of all of you! Aim! FIRE!"

All 500 let fly with their heaviest spears. This volley would break the enemy's frontline, and soften them up for the subsequent javelin attacks.

The spears glided over the shield wall. Shawnvis felt the pressure in front of him decrease. He heard blood-curdling screams. The spear volley had found its mark.

The 500 at his back continued. They drew their javelins, and launched a volley. There was more screaming. As they drew javelins for a third volley, there was a cry. Ninjas were approaching. Some 400 of the Comanseti let fly, but Major Alasfay told 100 to keep at the ready. When the Ninjas came closer, the group of 100 tossed their weapons one by one. The Ninja's fell by the dozens into the icy lake below.

Shawnvis looked to his right to see a Ninja standing on the guardrail. The Ninja was more heavily armored than most, wearing a large metal breastplate. The Ninja's knees bent. Shawnvis saw what he was doing. The Ninja was going to make a leap of faith into the shield wall to knock it over. Shawnvis could only watch in terror.

The Ninja was about to leap, when a javelin collided with his chest. His breastplate crumpled like tin foil from the projectile. The javelin stuck out of his chest, and blood began to seep through the wound onto the crumpled armor. The Ninja stumbled, and fell into the river like all of his brethren. The bodies of Ninjas were flotsam in the river below.

Shawnvis drew back from reality once more as the javelins flew again and again. He gave up his own javelins and spear to the men behind him. He remembered after his humiliation by Dale. He had gone back to his cottage to reclaim what few possessions he could, from seeds to family heirlooms. Then he left the house to become 1 of 10,000 refuges from Rivermith. He met up with his mother and sisters there, but he never knew his uncles fate.

He was in despair. He did not know where he was going. He found some work as a handyman around the camp, but that did not help him cope with the hole in his heart. Shawnvis only knew a handful of people in the camp. He saw Her quite often. They never asked for each other's names. She called him, "Farm-Boy", and he called her, "Meadow Girl". They became close, but their relationship was a platonic. They never got any closer than a peck on the cheek.

As the several months went by, Shawnvis' inner suffering died somewhat. But the assuage of his depression did not comfort him. He only felt worse. He felt like he was losing his connection to the past, and to his life. He could not find a word to the emotion he felt, he only knew that he felt worse as he got better.

As he walked to his makeshift home in the camp one day, he saw a herald standing on a mound of sticks. The herald was a man who stood at around 5'10", he was moderately muscular but seemed very athletic. His voice was booming. The herald was calling for strong youth to step forward, because he had a proposition for all of them. Shawnvis was down on his luck. He was willing to follow anything right now.

"Greetings, men of Rivermith." The Herald spoke out as men gathered forward. The Herald had an odd voice, yet he was strangely calming. His voice made it sound like each man in the crowd was the only person he was talking to, and that everyone was irrelevant. Shawnvis' naïve brought him to admire the man as he spoke.

"Men of Rivermith, I come to you today to speak the great tale of hope. We have been stepped upon by the foul Battleonians. They exploited us, and took advantage of all we gave them. They are known as the MOSSIL in Summits-Word. MOSSIL means 'Men of Stone, Steel, Iron, and Lies!' It is what they are, for they used their tales of a beast known as the 'Galin to persuade us to fight for them before their acts of betrayal."

Voices began to rise in crowd. Men whispered among themselves about the Devourer.

"Well, Men of Rivermith. I bring you the true tale of the 'Galin. His has promised us a route to victory against the evil Battleonians. He is not the true evil. He is willing to give us all we need to win if we will fight them in his name. It is so simple a task. As a sign of good faith, he has shown us a savior. The Savior is a genius of military affairs. He is unbeatable in tactics. He will lead us to victory."

Men's eyes began to open wide. It was not often that someone promised a route to victory in these dark times. All talk before this point had been rubbish, with thousands dying from false promises. But the talk of the Battleonians' mortal enemy giving them tools for victory? It was intriguing.

"The Savior has begun to organize an army in order to fight back against our enemies. He knows their ways. He is equally disgusted by their behavior. But he is low on men, which is why I stand before you. I ask you all, will you fight for your homes? Will you fight for your land? For your people? Will you fight to take back the land that is saturated with the blood of your forefathers? We need men like all of you to help us in this most righteous undertaking to win back our freedom! You!"

The Herald pointed to Shawnvis. Shawnvis was confused, and he pointed to himself with a confused look on his face.

"Yes, you!" The Herald spoke in his booming voice, "You are a handsome, muscular lad. Why is a specimen like you in a prison of the soul like this one? Why are you suffering in this place?"

Shawnvis paused and thought for a moment before he spoke, "Well, friend… They came to my home. They told me about how they murdered my father, and they tormented me and abused me and my friends. Then, they kicked me off my land and give it to some unworthy wizard. I lost everything! And all the things I lost… I lost them for nothing!"

The Herald smiled, and spoke with a kind voice, "Well then, lad. Would you take up the fight, and reclaim what is yours? You say you lost everything you owned for nothing, correct?"

Shawnvis responded with an obvious yes.

"Well, lad? Those men who took your land are bastards! They should be burned to the ground with their precious city, where they cower while counting the riches they stole from us! Why don't you come and together we'll beat those thieves and destroy their enterprise! What do you say?"

Shawnvis smiled back, "Friend. My whole world was destroyed for nothing. So let it be for something now!"

The Herald laughed a deep-hearted laugh. "Ha! I knew you had some sense! So what do all of you say? You've all been stepped on like this young man? Will you fight back like him?"

The whole crowd erupted in cheers. They all wanted to be a part of this undertaking. And the more cheers and applause Shawnvis heard, the more confidant he felt.

He went home to inform his family of his decision. They accepted it. His mother cried, fearing his well being, but she felt proud. His sisters wept too, knowing they might lose their brother. After an hour, he left to look for Her.

He looked through the camp, and came across her. He spoke in a quiet yet serious tone.

"Hello, Meadow Girl…"

"What is it, Farm Boy? There is a look in your eyes, there is something troubling. I can tell that you must tell me something important you must tell me."

"I am going to go. I am off to defend my home. I must leave soon…"

"Farm Boy… I love you."

These were the words Shawnvis longed to here his whole life. And he was tempted to stay. He spoke back, but was unsure what to do.

"I love you too…"

"I want you to go, though. Because you and I have lost much to the invaders. But you have lost more. They took your dignity, your home, and your father. You must go, it is your destiny. I regret that I am telling you to go to war, and by going to war, you will do terrible things to people. There is probably some girl in Battleon right now, telling her lover how much she loves him. And one day you might meet this man, and kill him. And she will feel the horror of my nightmares. But you must understand. I love you, but I do not want us to grow old together in a world where we must live in fear because we are peaceful. Today, Farm Boy, we must stand up for ourselves. We must be righteous, and we must show them our strength. We must prove that we are strong, and that we won't accept such abuse. Go, Farm Boy. Go show the world, and make us proud."

Shawnvis smiled. He spoke back.

"I don't know your name Meadow Girl. I do not know your family. I don't know much about you. But I will come home one day, having shown my worth. And I will know then. I will come back home someday, when I am worthy."

They leaned closer to one another, and they kissed. But they knew that they had to part. And so, they separated. Shawnvis promised to himself that he would come home, and Meadow Girl would be in his heart.

Months passed. Shawnvis completed basic training, and was assigned to 4th Battalion, 12th Brigade. Brigades 10-15 were basically occupational units, and 4th Battalion just sat around in a fort near the great river that divided mainland Lore from Valleymen territory. He became very close to every man in the battalion, they became his brothers. He connected especially well with Major Alasfay, who grew up in a village near Rivermith as well.

As the months passed, and a force of odd soldiers came to the fort saying they were begin stationed there for some secret mission, Shawnvis found himself in panic. He felt something bad was imminent. Like he'd face a monster within him.

A few days after the feeling arouse, a force of nearly 525 men came to the fort. They camped there, and scoffed when approached. Battleonians, the lowest scum on face of Lore. They were rude and obnoxious. Shawnvis was especially angered, though. Among these dirt bags stood the "Landlord" of his old home. Freedrick the wizard, camping near the fort? Shawnvis would not stand for it!

Shawnvis' memories were once again cut off. The volleys had ended. The missile attacks had subsided. Numerous enemies were dead, or dying. Shawnvis saw the men behind him retract their shields. Shawnvis drew his sword. He knew this was the moment. It all came down to now.

Shawnvis heard another enemy charge. This time, he could cheat and peek over his shield. He watched them approach, and crouched behind his shield. He waited for the right moment. He timed it down to the millisecond. He lunged forward to meet the oncoming enemies, slamming into them with force. His vicious blow knocked them back.

He got to his feet, and began to hack at enemies with his short sword. A man came at him from the front, Shawnvis brought down his sword in a large arc. He continued the arc after striking the man and brought the sword back and over his head and finally back down on the head of another man. He regained his fighting stance. When he saw another man come at him, he swung a low blow at the man's gut. Around him, 49 other men fought with their swords to take down foes. Their progress was unremarkable. Fear clouded their senses, and soon their fears were realized.

A Comanseti attempted a complex attack maneuver where he placed his sword behind his head to sweep in a large arc. But the man left his shield too low, and a fatal spear blow caught him. The man fell over, and his blood covered the shields of the men behind him. The whole Comanseti formation fell into panic. They began to slash violently at their enemies. Now they were killing fewer, and another 25 Comanseti fell over the course of the next half hour.

The formation lost its grip, and began to fall back to keep off the pressure. But Shawnvis was caught up in fighting. As the formation backed up, he did notice and kept fighting from his position. He fought insanely. He was not afraid like all the others, and he focused all his attention on killing.

By the time he found out, from Major Alasfay's curses and screams, he was already in trouble. The formation was 5 yards behind him, with multiple enemies in his path. If he attempted to make a dash, or engage the enemies behind him, he'd be killed. He had no choice but to fight his way through, and to back up against the wall and hold from there until the Comanseti pushed back.

He slashed a few times from security, sprinted back to the wall of a guardrail. He crouched behind his shield. There was a loud clang. Shawnvis wondered what it was, but it occurred to him a few seconds later. His arm was numb, and his shield's hand guard had a dent in it. He looked up, a massive Battleonians with a claymore towered over him.

Shawnvis looked at the awesome man. The man looked ruthless, like a berserker. And Shawnvis felt fear as he watched the berserker raise his sword above his head to strike a finishing blow on Shawnvis. The man's face contorted in a grim, evil face. It reminded Shawnvis of something. He looked into the man's eyes and felt a despair he had only felt once before. Greater than all other feelings he had ever felt, except for one. The man screamed in his face.

"You stupid Valleyman! You're a worthless piece of shit, and it's all over for you now!"

Shawnvis knew the end was now. He felt helpless and lost. He felt like it was all over, and that he was a failure. He heard his allies scream to him, but he toned them out. He resigned himself to death, and his thoughts drifted again, back to his first battle…

Shawnvis would not let those Battleonians stay at this fort. The Major told them not to engage without provocation. But Shawnvis was stubborn. He'd stab them in the back for coming within 100 feet of him. Over the course of the day, he gathered 100 privates, and he was able to command all of them due to his seniority as a Corporal. Corporal Shawnvis, a general among men he currently led. A pied piper of privates. They couldn't complain; all they could do was groan as he gathered them up from the fort and took them into the woods.

They waited and watched the Battleonians, who sat around like they were having a picnic. Shawnvis told his men to ready their spears. Within about a minute, the Battleonians heard a rustling noise. As the looked up to investigate, spears came down to crush their hearts. They panicked. More javelins rained down as they ran to collect their armor and weapons. 300 Battleonians were killed in the 5 volleys.

The Comanseti ran at them like wild men. They sprinted through the camp, and killed every man they saw. Most of them were attempting to put on armor. They did not wait; they ran up and stabbed the men. There were only brief pockets of resistance. At times enemies would forget about their armor and draw their weapons. The Comanseti were trained for perfection. But the Privates weren't invincible. By the time they'd made their way through the camp, 10 privates and 450 Battleonians were dead. The remaining 75 were huddled up, their armor was sloppily adorned and their weapons half-polished.

The Comanseti were out of javelins. But they still had a stash of other ingenious projectile weapons. First, they threw vials at their enemies who wore their armor and carried shields. The vials were a high-explosive substance, created to devastate and remove pesky armor, and soften targets for dart attacks. Darts flew from the Comanseti rank, catching the Battleonians off guard. The darts were small, but lethal. There were 2 dart volleys. Every dart that was thrown was aimed, and the enemy couldn't escape a trained dart thrower. By the time the volleys subsided, only 10 enemies stood, cowering in fear.

Out of these final ten, Shawnvis saw the man he hated second most in the world. Freedrick. He must die! Shawnvis was angry beyond words. As the Comanseti force he led closed in on the Battleonians, he looked to his belt. There it lay next to his standard issue weapon. His Father's Sword! It had not been opened from its sheath for months. In fact, it was never removed from its cover at all since that die. Shawnvis knew what he had to do.

He ran forward with all his speed. He dropped his shield, it encumbered him too much, and he'd need to reach the wizard fast before he could cast a spell. He drew the sword. The sword had an eerie glow, for its blade went untouched for months and now glistened in the sun. Shawnvis screamed as his came at wizard.

Shawnvis raised his elbow, and bashed the wizard's face with it as he charged. He did not slow down and he placed his hand against his shoulder to keep it steady. It hit the wizard so hard he was knocked from his feet. The wizard attempted to get up. As he rose to his feet, Shawnvis' off hand snapped out to grasp the wizard's neck. The wizard could only gag.

"Please, please…" was all he could say.

Shawnvis answered in that moment with confidence he had never felt in his life. "No, for you have come to enslave my people. You have killed my family, taken my home, and buried my heart. You have frozen my soul, and because I am so cold, I will not weep for you!"

Shawnvis lowered his sword arm and brought it behind him. He swept underhanded, catching Freedrick in the gut. Freedrick keeled over in pain. As Shawnvis removed his blade, blood gushed from the wound all over the ground. And Shawnvis watched with no remorse as Freedrick's death spasms began. He put away his father's weapon and drew his own.

Shawnvis had led by example. The privates who he had conscripted charged. They brought down their Battleonians foes in a mass shield bash, followed by a stab delivered to the neck of every enemy. The enemy had been beaten, or so it seemed.

As two Comanseti walked forward to examine the bodies, the cape of what had appeared to be a corpse flew upward. The figure draped in it rose to his feet with a sword raised over his head, which he promptly brought down on the head of a Comanseti, cleaving his skull. As the other attempted to draw a weapon in panic, the figure recovered his sword and swung a fatal blow at the neck of the Comanseti, decapitating him. The cape whirled with the blow, so as the stranger's movement subsided the cape flew into his face, clouding his identity. The man began to rise and threw back the cape. It was Dale…

And Shawnvis peered from inside his helmet, his eyes met with Dale's. And that's when he felt his desperation consummate. It came alive within him. That was the feeling of desperation he felt as he watched his executioner prepare a deathblow. He felt like death was imminent. He was only afraid of one thing. Dale, and here Dale was, like a demon come to antagonize him more.

But he looked to Dale. The nightmarish demon laughed at the fearful Comanseti. He laughed as they backed away, and cursed them out. Shawnvis thought to himself.

"I joined the military to fight men like this. To be righteous. To more righteous than a so-called 'Paladin'. I came to route out evil, and to keep others from ending up like me. Who am I to retreat or surrender? There is more than just my life on the line…"

Shawnvis' adrenaline ran through his blood like water in a river. It gushed through his veins. He was alert, time seemed to move slowly. The adrenaline numbed the fear in his heart, and it seemed surreal as he ran toward the ferocious Dale armed with only a short sword. Dale raised his sword over his head to bring it down on Shawnvis. Shawnvis raised his sword over his head, and secured the blade with a hand on each end of the weapon. He was going to try to block the counter-attack.

Shawnvis closed in, and the sword plummeted. It collided with his sword, and knocked it out of his hands. Dale's sword hit the ground with a thud, but it was free. Dale laughed at him, and cursed him and his people. Shawnvis stared into those eyes again. But this time, fear did not grip him. Only determination and valor. He drew his father's weapon, smeared with the blood of Freedrick. Dale recovered into an attack position for a sweeping arc at Shawnvis' neck.

Shawnvis paused to allow Dale to launch his arc. Dale swung, and Shawnvis ducked. The attack missed. Shawnvis pulled his helmet off as he stood back up. He grabbed it by the rim and swung it like a blunt weapon. The helmet smashed against the side of Dale's head. The dent was massive, the entire helmet was crushed and it would take weeks to repair. Dale dropped his sword and grabbed his head with both hands from the pain.

He looked up to his assailant, a scared look in his eyes. He looked at Shawnvis' face, and he eyed it over. His eyes widened in shock.

"You... YOU?"

Shawnvis scowled. Revenge would be sweet. He raised his father's sword over his head with both hands, and swung it at Dale's chest. He intentionally made a shallow gash, so Dale would live. He raised the sword again and swung it a diagonal angle, he followed up with a swipe from an opposite angle. He hacked apart Dale's chest with the sword. Swipe after swipe after swipe. It was almost magical. As Shawnvis slashed Dale's chest, his follow Comanseti watched in awe. And Dale was in agony, living through the whole thing.

Shawnvis brought the sword back, ready for one horizontal swipe to behead Dale and end it all. He let out an immense war cry as he made the slash. The whole forest shook. The war cry left an impression on all who heard it because it was loud and passionate.

And in the present moment, it was a moment of shock. That war cry had been outdone. On the bridge, Shawnvis let out a great war cry. The whole bridge was silent except for that immense scream. Shawnvis' executioner stood still as Shawnvis dove at him, knocking his down. Shawnvis got to his feet nearly instantly, and stabbed the berserker in the throat. He pulled out his weapon, and rolled. He recovered from the roll at the feet of an unsuspecting enemy and drove his whole sword through the man's lower torso and left it there.

Shawnvis drew it. He had carried it with him since that first battle. He had cleaned the blood off of it and sheathed it. It had not been withdrawn since. His father's sword gleamed like it had that day. Shawnvis's mind was unclouded. He was in a state of focus. He slashed his way through the enemy flank, back to his own line. It was effortless to him. He wove, dodged, and killed his enemies like it was a bizarre dance. He killed without effort.

Shawnvis' courage began to rub off on his comrades. Major Alasfay brandished a smile as Shawnvis unleashed the beat within. He ordered a final push. Alasfay's soldiers became stronger. They were no longer afraid. And the lack of fear, and the contempt and ignorance of pain and suffering made them better killers. They were focused now. They were efficient. Nothing clogged their minds as they pressed onward.

Shawnvis regrouped with the first line and fought with them for 15 minutes in an intense flurry of combat. But as he engaged a spearman, his leg felt sluggish. He moved to the spearman, and stabbed through the side of his neck before bringing his blade through the front of it in a slicing motion. As he looked to his leg, he saw that it had been impaled with a spear. The sight of his own leg brought Shawnvis out his killing trance. He lost his battle high, and found his sense yet again clogged. He fell onto his back.

He watched as an enemy poised himself to strike at him. Shawnvis had seen the situation more than once today, where death seemed imminent. The Battleonian lowered his sword to stab Shawnvis in the heart with.

He spoke, "Any last words, Valleyman?"

"Yeah, I've got two."

"Yeah?"

"Fuck off!"

The Battleonian was either mentally retarded or fatally confused, as he lowered his sword and pondered that statement. Shawnvis heard screams. A Comanseti leaped over his head and rammed the enemy with his shield as he landed. Shawnvis watched his comrade lunge forward, and then being to hack and slash. Shawnvis smiled and chuckled at his moronic foe, who easily could have killed him at any point. He watched as the front line of his forces cut apart the Battleonians like they were made of rice paper.

He felt arms grasp him. Shawnvis struggled for a moment before realizing it was Major Alasfay and First Sergeant Montez dragging him away from the fight. He looked over to his left, where Major Alasfay grabbed him. The Major began to speak to him as he dragged.

"Down worry kid, we're taken you out of the fight. We're getting you a doctor!"

"Will my insurance cover it?"

Alasfay smiled and retorted, "Nope, your healthcare package doesn't cover spear wounds. But in all seriousness though, you did good kid. You did great! I'm damn proud of you!"

"Thank you sir!"

Alasfay dropped him off at the allied end of the bridge with a doctor. Then he and the First Sergeant dashed back toward the fight.

The doctor examined the injury for a few minutes. Shawnvis felt pain, but he sucked it up and coped with it. The doctor finally spoke.

"This injury isn't serious. We'll bandage it up, you stay off that leg for a while, and you'll get better."

"Will I still be able to fight?"

"Hold on a minute, tiger. You will may a full recovery, but you have to wait few months before you use it. The war may be over by the time you're ready."

Shawnvis took the news well. As a team of soldiers brought him to the field hospital to rest, he started to plan how he'd spend his time at home. As soon as the wound healed, he'd go back to the camp and find out her name. He was now worthy. He had done his part, and held the line. The battle was going well from what he heard. His warrior heart had come to light. His heart beat strong. He was no longer ashamed of his father's passing or his own inadequacies. He had overcome them, and he knew that his father's spirit lived on inside of him, giving him the will to fight. He'd never forget…

Chris and Matt both watched the battle from their respective side of the river. There were still hours more fighting to come, but the victory had already been determined. All that the losers could do know was inflict as many losses as possible on the victory. Both Chris and Matt were stunned. Such an outcome seemed impossible. Chris had been afraid. The armies' of Lore had fought well that day. But he was proud of every last one of his men and their accomplishments. Matt was in utter shock. He had planned the day well. He had learned from his mistakes. How could Chris have beaten him?

Chris knew the secret though. He would try to tell the whole world, but he knew the world might prefer not to listen. It had not been his tactics that had won the day. The will of his army, and their strength and devotion had made them immune to defeat. He would tell the world that hearts of iron were what drove his army to victory that day. He would never forget that…

But even as the fighting subsided that night and both sides withdrew, one to celebrate and one to lick its wounds, Chris and Matt both knew. There was still more fighting to come, both on the beaches, and at this bridge. The battle had only begun…


	18. Act 3: The Aftermath

Note: Although this Chapter is entitled, _**The Aftermath**_, this chapter is not the end of Act 3. There will be 3 battles in Act 3 as a whole. Act 3 is intended to depict the escalation of the conflict, with several major engagements after the events of Act 1 and Act 2.

"Clash of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Chapter 3_

Chris lay near the fire, knees bent with his feet against the ground. His hands were crossed behind his head, which he laid on the floor of his tent. Beside him sat several Colonels, and Major General Solomos, the commander of the relief force of nearly 34,000 men. They had arrived nearly two days after the victory at the bridge.

There were some 240 generals within the army of nearly 300,000. There was a ranked system, and different generals answered to one another. The ranking system went from 1st rank, the lowest, to 5th rank, the highest. Within 1st Rank were the Brigadier Generals. 2nd rank were the Major Generals. Contradictory to the name, Lieutenant Generals took 3rd rank and commanded over Major Generals. 4th Rank merely had the name "General". There were only a handful of those. 5th Rank, there was only one. Chris himself, known by the title of "Commandant".

Major General Solomos was several ranks underneath Chris, so he had to maintain formality the whole conversation. Chris, on the other hand, could be as crude as he wanted to be. But he abstained for right now. He preferred to have a formal conversation about politics and strategy.

"So, Solomos. Why are you coming with such news? It's joyous that you insisted on informing me, but why must it be know?"

Chris was referencing the big news in Valleymen territory, which he had learned about in great detail from Solomos. The enemy had stormed the beaches along the Valleymen's countryside, and captured the beaches without hindrance from the Limineti. It was almost effortless how Galanoth had stormed the beaches. The Limineti had charged down the sandy beach, and Galanoth's men had beaten them back by forming a hasty defensive line. And it was absolutely hilarious to Chris that they had fled when they found out Matt had gotten screwed at the bridge.

Their evacuation had been so sloppy that the surviving Limineti rallied, and charged them as they attempted to board their landing craft. And as the Limineti held the Battleonians in place, artillery pieces and missile troops moved into position above the beach.

For nearly two days, the Battleonians found themselves at odds with the missiles raining down on them. Sadly for them, they could not launch to sea. There was a violent storm taking place, and heavy winds from the storm made fast waves that the Battleonian fleet could not escape.

Captain Rhubarb's warships had anchored and were safe out in the deeper waters from artillery. But the landing craft were light ships, which carried about 50 soldiers and were manned by a 4-man crew. The boats were meant to be rowed by 16 men, so the light frame made them fast and maneuverable. But they had almost no muscle, and they were completely unarmored and very flammable.

For two days, arrows and artillery projectiles rained on the Battleonians on the beach. The beach was sandy and inclined, so when the Battleonians launched a counter-attack against the archers, they found themselves unable to move efficiently over it. By the time they began to fall back, the beach was slippery with blood. They realized that their earlier victory had been due to the fact that they remained stationary throughout the fight. They figured that the best course of action was to flip over unneeded boats and to use them as shelter from the bombardments.

The sand and the sea were barriers. They were locked in place so they could have arrows rain on their heads. The enemies rained conventional arrows for hours at a time. When they had run out of targets on the beach, artillery would begin to rain on them. The artillery would smash against the ground, and sand would splash everywhere. Those trapped inside flipped boats felt sand smash against the walls of their shells. And it only made them more scared.

Artillery pieces would occasionally hit one of the protective huts, and smash it to pieces. Everyone inside would die. The survivors of the artillery could

The risk of infection from using the bathroom inside the boat was substantial. Anyone who had to go would have to risk it outside. During the artillery bombardments, this was not as hard. The worst that could happen would be being covered in sand. But during arrow bombardments, it was nearly impossible to go. Anyone who really had to would have had to go outside with no pants on, and remain mobile as they performed the deed to avoid flights of arrows. Humiliating.

As the storm subsided, the boats were flipped back over and launched. This was difficult, because many boats were destroyed, and a joint arrow-artillery strike commenced as they attempted to cast out. The enemy had begun to use flaming projectiles, so if even one arrow hit a boat it had the potential to be fatal.

By the time the boats had reached safe waters, nearly 2/3 of their force had been wiped out. Galanoth had nearly perished himself, as several flaming arrows had impacted the deck and lit it. He was extremely lucky, as the misty sea breeze kept the fire under control so the fire could be extinguished.

The Battleonian Navy was being pursued by the Valleymen's own navy. The Navy was very new, and largely untested. There was only 1 engagement so far, a skirmish between the 3rd Patrol Task force made up of light ships and a Man o' War battleship. The Man o' War had been sunk, but it had taken the Valleymen by surprise, and it sank 5 ships. 2 others were crippled in the fighting and needed extensive repairs.

The Man o' War used cannon-like weapons, which was a second reason why it fared so well. Chris' ships were similar to ancient triremes, but were fitting with weapons in addition to the ram underneath the water. They were unable to deploy their heavier weapons until midway through the fight. That was when the tide turned.

The results of the skirmish were only known within the Valleymen Navy and Command structure. Within those branches it was common knowledge. Outside though, no one knew what happened to 3rd Patrol and to the Man o' War. The Battleonians were clueless.

"Do we really know if the Navy will fare as well as I'd hope?"

"Well, sir. I have some… news. I can't tell whether it is good or bad." A lone messenger stood in the doorway of the tent.

"What is it?" Chris was alerted by the tone of the messenger's voice.

"Well, sir… Admiral Veritas assumed command over the 2nd and 3rd Comanseti divisions a few days ago, and deployed them on his fleet. He believes it will increase his odds of victory, but he did not have time to run it by you first. He hopes you will understand and be merciful."

Chris frowned, "Veritas better bring home both divisions intact or else his ass will end up in water so deep it'd drown a fish. He knows as well as I do that he shouldn't be running around will my elite corps without asking."

"Sir, he'll engage tomorrow. He's confident though. He says this time his men will have all weapons at the ready, and battle stations will be manned. They won't suffer such a tragic victory."

"I'd hope as much. Good day…"

The messenger saluted, and left the premises.

Major General Solomos spoke, "Sir, I know now might not be the greatest time to ask, but Lieutenant General Assimus instructed me to ask you if he could borrow the 1st Comanseti division. He says he'd like to have them as an expeditionary force."

"An expeditionary force? Explain…"

"Well, sir. He says he'd like to divide the division up and use it for a greater strategic goal. He says he wants to station a brigade on the Gattan Island to the south, and station another brigade on Paxia. Finally, he wants to use the final brigade for fleet security and reserve on his expedition."

"Why would… Ahhhhh… I get it now!"

"Well, sir, I don't much understand the point of this plan. He just asked me to inform you of the basics of his plan. What does he mean?"

"His intention is to intimidate the people on those people. He wants to put pressure on them so they will break any ties they have with Battleon. The Gattans will go back to their regular old selves, and have no involvement in this conflict. The clans will remove their support of Battleon when sufficient pressure is placed. Thousands of clan members will then opt out of the war. Battleon will lose its fair share of support. They'll be weakened, and we'll have an advantage."

"Makes sense enough…"

"The thing is, all my Generals talk about weakening the enemy. They never talk about the killing blow, or the aftermath. We're making progress, but it's slow. Our issue is that although we think well, we think too short term. Also, the vast majority of our military has never seen action, or hasn't been tested. We've been winning purely off of luck…"

"Well, what can we do about a killing blow?"

"That's our problem. Our issue is that even if we invaded, we only have a small avenue to transport supplies and men. This one bridge. If we formed a line that moved southward as a whole, there's no way we'd be able to supply and maintain an army. The advance would be too broad. The only way we could get enough supplies to the front is if we attempted a narrow column attack southward. Then we'd be exposed on both sides. Plus, our other issue is that if we go on the offensive, the enemy can just land a mass army to our rear, take out what little of a supply chain we have, and close in on us from two fronts."

"So, we can't kill them?"

"Well, that's the thing. We'd have to tire them out. We'd need years of constant war to do that, but we'd be just as exhausted. I do have a plan to mortally wound them. But it may take a bit before we can enact it."

"Oh…"

"For now, we just have to stick to our guns. Keep playing the victory card. We engage as much as possible to keep enemy losses high. Besides, they'll have a rough time taking this land, we're better off just waiting here."

"By the way, there are rumors that Matt and his army may be leaving to go back to Battleon within a few hours."

The Colonels had stayed quiet nearly the whole time, but one decided to but in. "Humph, I just wish we could send him back in a coffin."

Chris spoke with confusion laced in his voice, "Where did you here this?"

"The rumor has been spreading through camp. Security is getting pretty lax."

"Well, put everyone on top alert. I want a unit ready to charge the bridge at the slightest movement. And, anger a few bulls while you're at it."

Several Hours Later…

Across the river

Matt lay in bed, having nearly drowned. He had sent a rogue across the river, disguised as a Valleyman. He tricked their whole force into believing that Matt was leaving.

Sadly, Chris somehow saw through the deception. Matt and a force of nearly 2,000 men from a reinforcement unit of 12,000 attempted to sneak across the river. From there, they had planned to infiltrate the camp through lax security, and kill off as much of the enemy force as possible for a major assault, which would later take place.

As they moved across the river, they came into view of the camp; a sentry called out, "Execute code red!"

Matt knew they had spotted them, but did not expect what happened next. Two bright red fire balls flew through the sky. Matt realized it was artillery fire. But the fireballs missed, streaking and landing less than 100 feet behind his force. It almost seemed intentional. Matt looked behind him. The fireballs exploded into a shower of shiny red sparks. The shower of sparks gleamed on the shiny armor of Matt's army.

There was a loud call. Restless cries. Cries of anger. Just like the cries of wild bulls.

"Oh shit!" were Matt's only words.

2-dozen gigantic longhorn steers began to charge toward Matt's armies, who were glowing red. Bulls have a natural aversion to red because they are partially color-blind and lack depth perception, like many animals. The color red pisses them off bad because they can't see it. And Matt's men were bathed in it. All they could do was protect themselves, and hope for something better than a violent death.

Matt woke up hours later. He was in pain. He had been hit by the full brute strength of the animal. He was lucky to have survived; he was even luckier to have lived with so few injuries. His head hurt badly.

He felt almost… weightless. Then he came to realize. Two enemy soldiers were carrying him. One held his head; the other held Matt's legs. Matt attempted to squirm, but he was in too much pain to move. The soldiers did not notice his movements at all. They just carried him to the edge of the bridge, and handed him off to a crew of two men standing on the guardrails.

They pulled him up, and began to swing him. They finally let go, and Matt plunged into the river below. A cold chill overran his spine in nearly a second. He began to shiver; the numbing was overwhelming the pain. He was granted some level of mobility, but not much.

He realized the weight of his armor dragged him under. The armor he wore was his finest suit. It was no ordinary suit. It had been hand made by Yulgar for him at the beginning of the war, and he had only worn it sparingly. The armor's exterior was covered in silver (gold was too soft and heavy), and underneath were layers of steel, mixed with magically enchanted layers. The armor had cost a huge sum of gold; it was nearly impossible to find anywhere else. Matt's rare daedric claymore weighed him down just as much, and he realized that survival would be a tough decision.

Leaving behind his weapons and armor, he'd lose them forever to the flow of the river, but not leaving them meant death. Matt wept as he quickly undid the straps of his armor, and dropped his sword to let them float away. He floated to the surface feeling defeated.

And so here he lay, only about an hour after rescue. Chris had never sent a single man. He had used wild bulls to soften them up before sending in war hounds to hunt survivors. There were a handful of survivors from Matt's raiding party, but most of them also had to abandon valued possessions.

Matt felt sorrow for his missing armor, knowing he'd never have another suit like it. Yulgar was too busy to make another, and his free time was spent weeping in sorrow. And the claymore… Matt had taken it for granted. Where would he find another?

The waters had given Matt pneumonia, and his enemies had humiliated him. Matt left within a few days. Damani and Ricobabie left with him. He decided to rest and sort things out back in Battleon. He did not know where he was going, and he was afraid now.

Adagamefreak now took charge of the bridge defensive. He was proud to take command, and smirked, thinking he would finally prove his superiority over Matt by defeating Chris. But he underestimated the responsibility, and he especially underestimated the skill of his opponent. Within 2 days of taking command, he would be put to the test. A trial by sword and spear. The fight was certainly not over…


	19. Act 3: A Great Battle's Start

Note: To anyway who's reading this; I'm already considering what my next project will be after this. I'm seriously thinking about writing a Ghost Recon Advanced Warfighter fanfiction. If you have any interest creating a character for the story, PM me for details.

"Clash of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Chapter 4_

"Dude, that was fucking hardcore!"

Chris and his other Senior Officers sat around a fire in the middle of a large tent, discussing the events from a few days prior. Thanks to a little bit of ingenuity, they had avoided actual battle. But unlike what Sun Tzu recommended (The book Art of War advocates that fighting should only be a last resort, that war should be based on deception, intimidation, and negotiation rather than consistent frontline combat.), they resorted to using animals as weapons. How wonderfully it had worked.

Matt had appeared to be on a winning streak. He had come fairly close to victory in the previous engagement. Hell, the entire combined forces of Battleon had come close. But the Valleymen pulled victory out from nowhere. Sheer luck and skill of arms had pulled them through.

And now what? Matt was gone. Not for good, but he'd be out of action for a little while. So here they were, just talking, waiting for something good to happen.

"I fucking know! Dude, the prick almost drowned! I would have loved to fucking see that."

"To me, he's a fucking moron, I bet he'd have been dumb enough to swim to our side of the river. Then we would have fucking stabbed him in the throat!"

"I'd have fucking stabbed him myself! Fucking dirtbag!"

Chris had been laughing with everyone else, but now he spoke up.

"Matt isn't a total retard. But he's got some ego issues, and I don't think he's as cut out for commanding soldiers as he thinks he is. Besides, I'd imagine it'd be pretty tough for any commander on their side."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because we're a goddamn revolution. I'm serious. Look at the way they've fought for the last thousand years, maybe even longer. They've fought one-on-one style combat, or shit similar to that. They've never had this kind of warfare, where soldiers fight as a unit rather than as individuals. They've never had to deal with, instead of say a small group of troops; they've never had to deal with organized formations. They've just been fighting the way they always have."

More commanders jumped in.

"Yeah, I agree. Plus, when I first joined the service some 20 years ago, we never saw the type of shit you've been pulling. Special Forces? Commando raids? This is some pretty heavy shit right here. The stuff we've been doing, they've never seen. We're pulling fast ones on 'em."

Another Colonel spoke. "Damn right, the closest thing they've got to a match is the fucking Limineti."

Chris laughed, "Well, the Limineti were never intended to be kick-ass like our other troops. Their job is to hold the sons of bitches in place so we can use other weapons for real damage. I see what you're saying though. Well, we throw their brothers there for a reason. Less of those damn Battleonians to kill in the end!"

"You think they might go against us though? I mean, the fucking Limineti Corps itself is hemorrhaging soldiers from all the losses they took. The survivors aren't too happy. I mean, they're in a position to screw us over, big time and if they get too pissed they might go and rise up…"

"No, you know why? Because they came to our lands out of fear. Not loyalty, fear. And fear is a much better restraint than loyalty. A loyal person respects whomever their surviving, but they have free will. A fearful person is too scared to exercise free will. We are so fucking good, that they will never fucking rise against us. They are scared shitless by us."

"You really damn think so?"

"Those 600 Comanseti? That's a fucking bogeyman story! Its 600 of us, slaughtering thousands. Ebretman Hill? Parents in Battleon use that story to scare the living shit out of children! Hell, personal rumors are making all the guys on top of command look like badasses."

"Yeah, but they still got some bad motherfuckers on their side."

Major Alasfay, who had not gotten in word in edgewise previously decided to speak his mind.

"Not as bad as us. Ask any agent of our 'Master', the 'Galin who scares them most. Most will tell you that my very own Sergeant Shawnvis is the biggest ass kicker in the land of Lore. Guy must've killed 100 before they ever got a scratch on him."

"Yeah, though. What's with those fucks? The 'Galin's agents haven't done shit since we started fighting. They've been letting us do all the work, and they take credit. I respect the Devourer, but him playing favorites kind of pisses me off."

Colonel Harts, a soft-spoken man with what resembled a Scottish accent spoke.

"Aye, I'll tell you what the wee bastards are. They are the place where you stick it into your wife."

A Sergeant in the tent spoke abruptly, "They aren't assholes…"

The whole tent burst out in insane laughter over the immature reference. The Sergeant was serious, but suddenly realized what the reference was supposed to have meant. A shocked smile broke out on his face, and he toppled over in laughter.

Chris tried to calm down from laughing. He finally managed to control his laughter.

"Ohh. Well Sergeant, we know how you'll be spending your first few hours at home after this is over."

There was a slight resurge of laughter, but it subsided with two minutes. Chris spoke again.

"Seriously, though. Those fucks don't do anything except for bitch about how we aren't doing something right. Except they pussy out on us whenever its time to fight. I think they just want us to fight the war for them. Fortunately, the Devourer is giving us all the credit we deserve."

"Screw them. Next time they want to mess with me, I'll throw them to the fucking Battleonians. See if they want to bitch then. Fuckers…"

"Well now. Heard our shit head enemies have a new commander? Anybody know anything about him?"

Chris spoke, "Well, according to what I've heard, its Adagamefreak. He's like Matt's rival. And he isn't going to do a piss-poor job like Matt has been. He's going to try to upstage and embarrass him by trying to beat us in a fight."

"Heard he's a fanatic."

Chris replied, "Interesting you say that. Yeah, based on what I've heard of him, he's a crazy son of a bitch. But he's probably more concerned about upstaging his rival than he is about eating my heart of my chest."

"Profile COIN made of him says he's a crazy fucker. No visible signs of superior intelligence, but then again who is intelligent on the other side of our beloved river? Deeply possessed with fanaticism toward the Paladin order, and toward Battleon in general. According to intel he has a basic grasp of tactics. Will make a 100 effort toward success at arms. Is considered armed and dangerous…"

"You think he'll be worthwhile?"

Chris replied, "No damn idea. Met him once. He was the craziest bastard I ever met. Didn't like me much. I think he'd cut his cock off in the name of Battleon. Well, here's my question. Should we pursue bridge dominance?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, should we attack? Nothing changed after our last fight. Lot's of men died, but nothing changed. We own our side of the bridge, and they still own theirs. The standoff continues. If we press the attack during a moment of leadership transition, I'd say we might disrupt their activities."

"I think we should dominate. If we march and capture the bridge, we can bust some balls, right? We'll have control of the situation. We will call all the shots in war from that point on, right?"

Chris nodded.

"Alright, I think we should. We march tomorrow on the bridge. We take out their garrison; we occupy their side of the bridge. I'll draw up some plans. The rest of you, prep your men. Tomorrow will be a day for glory!"

Adagamefreak down from his perch on the hill and looked out across the bridge. Toward them. The advancing phalanxes. How could they mobilize so quickly? It had only been a day since he arrived. The spearmen looked exactly the same, as if it were a mirror reflection of one person over and over again.

No matter. There'd be hell to pay anyway.

"Commander, we should charge them now while they still advance. Maybe we have a chance."

"No. We will wait for them."

Adagamefreak turned around to see the men behind him on the hilltop. Sloppily prepared in their haste for battle. Many didn't even have armor on. They looked exhausted, and fearful.

"Men of Battleon. I ask you an important question. Are your ready to die?"

The mob behind him mubbled, "Yes Commander."

"No, you aren't. You claim you are to humor me, but you aren't. Let me tell you something. You know why they are great killers? Why a paltry 600 of them can kill thousands of us? Because they do not fear death. Their lack of fear only makes them better fighters, and death becomes further from them. The thought of dying clouds your minds, and soon all you can do is become fodder, another victim to the fearless enemy. So I tell you now. Remove your fear of death. Because I believe all of you can and will fight harder and better than them if you only remove your fear. You are all hardly prepared for battle, and they fight with weapons and maneuvers I've never seen. But you have the courage and ability to win. Remove your fear, and you will be invincible. So let me ask you now. Are you ready to die?"

This time, the response was thunderous. The speech hardened the resolve of his men. "Yes Commander!"

Adagamefreak repeated his question several times. It was met with the same response each time, each more powerful than the last. Finally, he asked one final time, slowly.

"Are… you… ready…… to die?"

The word die had barely left his lips before the most resounding of all answers came.

"YES COMMANDER!!!"

A soldier began to scream above the crowd.

"We will follow you to the death, Commander! Shall we charge and engage the enemy now? Shall we crush them in the name of Battleon?"

"No! Form a position around the mouth of the bridge. Await my orders!"

Adagamefreak watched his men shuffle down the hill toward the bridge. They anxious for battle, impatient. A handful charged toward the spearmen anyway, disobeying his orders. They quickly met their fate. The rest were obedient. They waited for that perfect moment when Adagamefreak would give them the order. And in that moment, all hell would break loose, and the fate of the world of Lore would hang in the balance. The bridge was the gateway between the Valleymen and the Battleonians, and the victor of the fight would hold the key to unlocking the door to victory…


	20. Act 3: No Solutions

"Clash of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Chapter 5_

Angohelios stared at the man before him. He was ragged, and his armor worn and cut. Scars ran across his dirty face, and a beard befell him.

"Please, my good sir, let me into the damn tower. I must speak to the leaders of Battleon! It is urgent."

"Please inform me of what is so urgent that you must disrupt the counsel."

"I don't have time to tell you, and it is of the utmost importance. Please forgive my rudeness, but I have quite a tale to tell, and I would not like to spend time telling it twice!"

Angohelios looked behind him to gaze up at the top floor of the tower, then looked back at the man in front of him. Angohelios was one of the elite guardians watching over Guardian tower. He had held this job for nearly 15 years. And in all that time he had never seen anything quite like the sight in front him. A poor, ragged man, covered in dirt and it torn sheets of metal that bore a superficial resemblance to armor. The man had no weapons, no money, nothing.

And yet the man begged for an audience. In a time of war no less. Angohelios had grown up in deep poverty, but even he felt sorry for the man in front of him. He submitted.

"My friend, I will allow you in and take the fall for you. But remember this, every second you spend in there is the precious time of the counsel. We are at war you know, and the counsel needs to be ready to act. If you waste their time, I'll waste you. Do you understand?"

"Thank you sir! You will not regret it."

Angohelios led the man up the steps to the highest level of the tower. He swung open the door to the counsel chamber and held them open for the beggar. All the eyes of the room fell on them. Situated at the counsel table were many of Battleon's heroes, Artix Von Krieger, Robina Hood, Galenoth, Warlic, Matt, Damani, and Yulgar. Numerous counsel men, wise mages, crafty thieves, and brave warriors, sat at the table as well. At the sides of the room stood Ricobabie, and many other important figures.

"Good counsel men and women, I have brought you this beggar from the front gate. He asks for a private audience with you, and says it is of the utmost importance."

The speaker of the counsel, Andrusen, rose to his feet to speak.

"Have you asked our beggar here what is business is here?"

"Yes sir, but he refuses to tell me and persists that he must tell you his tale immediately. I decided to bring him to you after informing him of how precious your time is, and his insistence after that."

"Very well. Angohelios, you are dismissed, please resume to your post. We will be just fine with our guest."

Angohelios saluted, and marched back down the stairs, shutting the counsel door after him. The beggar turned to face the counsel. They all sat at a wide table, with Andrusen sitting in the center. The beggar just kneeled in silence.

"Well, you demanded an audience, we would like it if you were to tell us why you are here."

"Well, counsel man, I think that will be difficult. I don't know where to start. I have a grand tale to tell you all, but I don't know where to start."

"Is this a joke? You came here to tell us a story?"

"No, sir. I came to inform you of the fate of Captain Adagamefreak's fate along the river side."

"Excuse me?"

"Sir, I am Lieutenant Geoger, of his army. I commanded a company in the struggle that day. You see sir, the army of the Valleymen… they assaulted across the bridge. And they wiped everyone out. I am the only survivor, as far as I know."

The entire room gasped. Heads turned the as the counsel members spoke amongst one each other. For five minutes the whispering and shock moved around the room. When order finally settled, the shock was still present on everyone's faces. Andrusen asked his next several questions with his eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"What happened? How could they destroy our army? We sent Adagamefreak with manuals. With tactics. With thousands of eager men! How could he be defeated?"

"Sir, I don't know sir. I don't know how those damned barbarians did it. At one point it seemed as if we would win. But they bombarded us with arrows until our lines buckled. They buried us in arrows! And they marched straight through us on foot. Their horseman drove us back, destroying the flimsy line that remained after their arrows. They came at us until not a single living man had not routed, save Adagamefreak. Even his bodyguards abandoned him out of fear of the barbarians."

"Why did they flee?"

"I cannot tell you sir. I could not get the information from them; even I wanted to know because they are dead. Everyone his dead. The horsemen, the butchers, they hunted us to the man. They let no one live. I only survived because I threw my body down into a mound of bodies as I flee. Those men had been encircled by horseman and cut down with arrows one by one. One by one without any mercy! I hid amongst the bodies."

Geoger paused.

"Then, they came for the bodies. They hacked bodies apart. The burned and roasted bodies. The men they capture were slowly and painfully executed, and the their bodies… They skinned men, and made a flesh rope out of the skin. They hung the carcasses from the bridge by the flesh ropes. I fled as they mutilated the fallen, for I knew they'd execute me if I were found. And so I fled, running back to Battleon as fast as I could. I cared for nothing, except for my life and how many miles between them and me. Oh, god! The horror… the horror… the horror… the… the… the horror…"

Geoger began to weep uncontrollably. Everyone in the entire chamber was dead silent.

Andrusen reluctantly broke the silence.

"Tell, me, honorable Lieutenant. What is the fate of Adagamefreak?"

"I cannot tell you. I do not know how they killed him, but he cannot still be alive."

"Well, Geoger. You have told us much, but please start from the beginning."

"Yes, sir…"

Chris's phalanxes marched across the bridge. They screamed battle chants. They sang songs about upcoming victory. They marched without a care in the world. They marched in phalanxes of 500, with about 100 feet of distance between each phalanx.

Chris didn't think he would need to flex a whole lot of muscle. At least not yet. He planned to go easy on his opponent until he had an idea of what to expect. Then he'd fuck him up and go for the kill.

All Chris could see was a large group of enemies, standing right in front of the bridge. Right in front of the phalanx's spears. God, what idiots. A direct charge, straight on at his men.

Adagamefreak was afraid. Would his plan work? He had worked so hard. All he wanted was to hold them off. Even if it meant defeat. He wanted the Valleymen to lose enough men to delay them. He just wanted to buy more time, for each day that children could play in the streets of Battleon without having to worry about the war, and each day they were safe was like a gift. It was precious and valuable.

Adagamefreak had a little surprise prepared. The only thing that could keep the enemy on their toes. He had actually listened to one of Chris's lectures once.

"There is no such thing as a perfect weapon. I assure you, if there were such a thing, that would be the only weapon anyone would ever use. Every weapon, tactic, formation, tool, or commander has a weakness to compensate its strengths."

Someone else listening to the lecture screamed out, "Who says that they have strengths?"

Chris screamed back, "Okay asshole! Then why in fucking hell are you relying on them? If you have a weapon with no goddamn strengths, then why are you fucking using it? Don't ask me stupid shit questions like that! And another thing. A perfectly balanced weapon is equally fucking useless for the reason I just stated. It has no fucking strengths, and that is its fucking weakness. Thanks you fucking prick, you just got me ranting!"

That was his only memory of Chris. He had heard otherwise, but he though he was strictly down to business when it came to this kind of stuff. He took his profession as commander quite seriously, amazing in contrast to rumors.

But, that was not the point. The lecture had reminded Ada that the phalanx did have a weakness. It's flanks. If those were exposed, the formation was screwed.

As the phalanx drew closer and closer, Adagamefreak was tempted. It felt so tempting to just charge and get it over with. Things were tense right now. But he determined to get it right. The moment drew closer, and it came. The phalanx was now moved off the bridge. The stone guardrails no longer blocked their flanks.

"Attack! Charge! Kill the motherfuckers!"

The nearby bushes rumbled as their concealed occupants revealed themselves and charged. The bushes ran parallel to the bridge, and the warriors who jumped out of them were charging straight at the flanks of the phalanx.

Chris watched the whole thing. In 8 minutes, it was over. All 500 gone. His Earax spearmen had dropped their spears and fought with their short swords. It had been basically a 1 for 1 trade off in terms of manpower, but Chris was stunned. It felt like a stab in the eye. He had just been ambushed, and outdone. Without orders, the second phalanx continued its march. The enemies formed a semi-circular perimeter around the mouth of the bridge. The second phalanx moved in and into the hot zone.

Chris cursed the whole time as his second phalanx fell into the same trap. They fared better, as they had more time to use their spears and the enemy no long possessed the element of surprise. Yet Chris was still embarrassed, because the enemy had used the same trick twice, and had lost some 1000 men within 20 minutes.

Chris felt like an idiot. His third phalanx had finally halted. He issued a general order to hold position.

To his left stood Colonel Hart, "Aye, sir. My archer corps is ready to go whenever you say so."

Chris looked back. "Hart, I know you mean well, but it won't damn work. I've got too many goddamn men on that bridge, and it would hamper the range of your archers. They would barely be able to hit anything. I'd need them a bit closer to he end of the bridge…"

"Sir, why can't we just pull some back?"

"I have 10 phalanxes on that bridge. It's a very confined space, only 50 men in length. I think its pretty fucking hard to back up."

"Ahhh, got any ideas, sir?"

"Okay, okay, let's rethink this. How many archers can you spare?"

"I have 6000 at my command."

"Okay, give me your best third. Your top 33.3 I'll need them."

"Roger sir! Where should I position them?"

"Well, we'll move them onto the bridge when we have enough damn room."

Chris was deep in thought for about a minute. But he thought and thought. An idea came to him. He summoned his 4 messengers.

"Okay, send a general order to every phalanx unit. We are going to have to perform a maneuver we've never practiced. We are going to have first phalanx form half a schiltron at the end of the bridge. A semicircle. Then we will have each phalanx behind it move in and consolidate with this "semi-schiltron". As we consolidate, the semi-schiltron will expand to fit the new troop mass, like a bubble. It will get bigger and bigger, and gradually push our enemies back. When all 10 units are in the formation, we'll move the archers in behind them and begin bombardments. After the archers open fire, stand by for further orders. Understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Within the counsel chambers, are was silent except for the voice of Geoger relating his tale.

"The spearmen began to form a semi-circle around the mouth of the bridge. It was like that… that schiltron formation. A couple of men charged them, only to be cut down. Then more and more enemies began to march and form up in the schiltron. It began to expand, and it got bigger and bigger. As it grew, its fangs began to get closer and closer, until they began to push us back. When the bubble had reached its largest, there must have been 5000 men inside it. Densely packed, completely guarding the bridge and all possible venues of attack…"

As he cut off, Andrusen spoke softly, "What happened next?"

"Then, their archers moved in behind them. They stood upon the bridge, untouchable. They began to fire; they rained arrows from the heavens. Tens of thousands of arrows fell upon us, and they cut us down like fresh wheat from a scythe. We fell by the hundreds, and panic was everywhere. Then, they shot arrows of fire. Beasts, horses and dogs, and everything were all frightened beyond wits end. Men were, cast ablaze, and threw themselves into the river, only to drown and perish in its waters. Three salvos of fiery missiles rain down and slaughtered hope…"

Geoger took a long pause. The counsel's eyes fell upon him.

"They marched out, after the knew we were losing. They formed their lines with efficiency. They formed a line, 500 men across, and marched all over us. It was virtually over. Their whole army marched over the bridge, and made room for their cavalry to march over. They cavalry charged us, and that's when it all broke down. We had lost, and the whole army routed. As I fled, I saw Adagamefreak charge at them. He only looked back once, and he screamed at us, 'Come back, you fucking cowards! Fight like real Battleonians!' He kept running at them as we fled. That's the last I saw of him…"

Robina Hood stood up. "Well, my friend, you've told us enough. Please retire downstairs. We thank you for this information. Take a bath, clothes will be given to you, and you will be given a room to stay in. Stay as long as you wish. Now please go, we must discuss what happens next."

Geoger left sobbing, without a word. He shut the door behind him and made his way down stairs.

Warlic stood. "That bastard!"

Andrusen, still in shock, spoke back. "Who?"

Warlic replied. "Adagamefreak! I gave him foolproof plans, and he fucked up!"

Matt spoke, "I'm sure he followed your plans to the word. He just wasn't able to pull it off. Maybe something else went wrong with the way we engaged."

Warlic was still infuriated. "I still can't fucking believe this! War used to be that we'd go out, kick some people's Asses, and come home victorious. Times are changing to fast…"

Artix spoke, "No one said this war would be easy. We all thought that way, but the game changed. Now, we have an enemy who we have apparently wronged. But do we deserve this? Do we deserve to be treated like this? Our city burned, our homes plundered. We marched on their homes for killing our people. We fought with them; the good majority of us fought an honorable war. Do we deserve this kind of genocidal madness because a handful of us have been evil sons-of-bitches? Do we deserve this?"

Galanoth was cold as he spoke. "Matt, I have lost faith in you over the past few months. For each time you go to battle, Chris attacks you and you come home with news of defeat. It was time for someone else to take the heat, but now that someone else is dead. You are lucky to be alive. But, I must ask you. You are the closest to the 'Galin. You seem to be able to connect to him, though for what reason we do not know. What does he know of Chris' activities?"

Matt responded, "Well, I have spoken to him several times. Chris honors him, but he remains largely independent. He has outgrown the 'Galin's assistance, and basically operates on his own. The 'Galin has no control over what he does, his loyalty only seems evident in his words…"

Galanoth spoke again, "Then, why does the 'Galin not uncreate him? He'll uncreate us all anyway."

Matt responded once more, "He says there are complicated reasons why he won't do it. At least not yet…"

Galanoth's face took on a sarcastic grin. "So, here we have a renegade General, brought from your world, wreaking havoc on ours. How pleasant. No one controls him, no one tames him. Tell me, do you have any others friends from your world who might know how to undo our dear friend?"

Matt took this as a shock, and then spoke. "Well, now that you ask, I do have two other friends who I invited to help us fight. But they aren't here. Both rejected my offers. Edward and Matt Benjamin. I did have trouble getting in contact with Edward, and when he finally reached him, he refused me. I can't help but feel a little suspicious why it took so long…"

Warlic spoke, "Magically displacing people from their world significantly slows time on the planet to compensate for their disappearance. The more people you take, the more it slows. So far, we have you, Ricobabie, Damani, and Chris. Now, when you visited your parents, I cast a very complex spell that allowed you to communicate with Terra, but you burned through all the minutes we had of contact. We needed to wait a little while to recover our minutes to recover Edward, that's why you had difficulty."

Matt felt like joking around, "If you need more minutes, why don't you just switch to T-Mobile?"

Warlic looked at him in a puzzled manner, "Say what?"

Matt smiled, "Nothing, nothing."

Andrusen raised his voice, "My friends, we need to stop bantering, and discuss the problem at hand."

A large, stocky paladin named Crispin stood up, and banged him hands on the table. He grunted loudly, and began to breathe loudly while staring at the table.

Andrusen looked at him, and spoke. "Crispin, is there a problem?"

Crispin banged the table again, and screamed. "Goddammit! Damn it, damn all of you! All that ever do is talk about problems! Well, let me tell you something! I am sick of damn problems. All we ever damn do is talk about them. Why do we always talk about problems?"

Andrusen looked back blankly, "Well, my friend, what do you propose we do?"

Crispin screamed again, "Why not talk about solutions, instead of damn problems? Why not? Solutions! God, we talk about problems, we never talk about resolving the damn issues we bring up! We're all mindless bureaucrats, never solutions, only more damn problems! Resolve the damn issues already!"

Warlic snapped back, "It was my job to come up with solutions to beat Chris."

Crispin looked at him, "Woopdy-fucking-doo! Your solution didn't fucking work! So now what do you fucking do? Instead of coming up with another one, you only find another fucking problem. We need damn solutions, not motherfucking problems! Can't any of you fucking understand that?"

Andrusen spoke, "My friend, we have tried to come up with solutions to beat the renegade general at his own game. We've tried, so it's understandable to be concerned why our solution didn't work."

Crispin voice became calm, "So, all you want to do is beat him at his own game. Has that worked? Has that ever fucking worked?" He began to scream again. "Goddamn it, no it has not! Why do we keep trying to beat him at his own game? Why don't we try something else? Every damn time we try to beat him by force, there is a repercussion for us. They've already burned Battleon. Do you think they won't try again? They now own that damn bridge, you know that? They can send whatever they want over that bridge. They can raid us, they can smuggle an army to us. So why keep going at this? Why keep sending more men to die in vain. You all say you care about Battleon. Then why do you keeping sending its finest to go off to war and die for no damn reason?"

Warlic spoke, "Because there is a chance we might win those battles we send them to."

Crispin's voice became calm once again, but it was filled with scorn. He looked over the room, scanning over everyone's faces as he spoke.

"You hear that? He say's there's a fucking chance. He says, that there is a fucking chance. Well fuck that! We are at their mercy now, under-fucking-stand? We can't just risk men's lives for a fucking chance. We play his game; he wins, because he seems to know the rules better than us. God, I don't even think he's a grown man and he is still kicking our Asses. You know what? We should stop it. We ought to stop being idiots. We ought to do something smart."

"Well?"

"Be diplomats. Play diplomacy. Get a fucking truce. Or maybe not even a truce. Just, prevent the war from escalating. Sign an anti-escalation pact. Matt, you spearhead this, all right, because you've got the connections to make him fold. You can put enough pressure on his ass to make him go with us. Its time to stop wasting men's lives by the thousands. If we're going to fight this, we should do this fair and square. We fight this off the mainland; we keep it away from our children. I'm sure they want to protect their kids as much as we do. Everyone understand me?"

The whole counsel stared at Crispin. He sat back down and stared into space. No one said a word.

Several Days Earlier

Adagamefreak awoke in the darkness. His shins and wrists were completely bound. The last thing he could remember was a duel with a dismounted cavalry soldier, before the soldier swung him his spear at him. He felt a blunt pain on the right side of his head, and he felt dried blood in his hair.

He heard loud noises. Music. He looked up to see several men standing on a platform, swaying back and forth. Below them sat men with instruments.

Across the fields were dozens of bonfires, fueled by corpses. The area reeked of burning flesh. Thousands of men in armor, many brandishing weapons, danced, jumping up and down and swinging to the rhythm. Nude women danced in rhythm, much to the delight of the men around them. The men on the platform sang an incomprehendable, yet intimidating song.

The thousands of men drank, played cards, and danced. They screamed like the children of Satan. Adagamefreak saw a man with long hair dancing. The hair color didn't seem natural, though. He first thought it was a wig, and then he realized it was a scalp. He looked to the man's feet to see a scalped corpse. He looked all around in the dark chaos.

Battleon bodies lay everywhere. The ground was soaked in blood. There were survivors being tortured and beaten everywhere. Men were being roasted alive over the bonfires, screaming for mercy. The soldiers were executing prisoners with their own weapons. Severed heads lay randomly on the ground, like debris. Adagamefreak realized this was the aftermath of his battle. This was how the barbarians treated their prisoners. He had never felt more afraid in his life.

Then a man in a dark cloak walked up to him, and removed his hood. It was Chris. Adagamefreak rose his knees, and Chris kneeled in front of him. Adagamefreak stared into his cold eyes, unmoving. Adagamefreak began to pant and pant in fear and desperation. Without a word, Chris brandished a severed head. The head of Adagamefreak's chief bodyguard. Chris grabbed the top of the head, and began to pull on the chin to open the mouth. He began to move the mouth to match his words.

"Well, Adagamefreak, you are my prisoner. Welcome… to Hell!"

Adagamefreak screamed, and fainted from fear…


	21. Act 3: Watery Grave

"Clash of Steel, Hearts of Iron"

_Chapter 6_

………………………………………Days ago, at sea……………………………………

Excited is normally a term used to denote great joy or anticipation. But what do you refer to it as when someone is more that merely joyful of in anticipation?

This was the question pondered by First Sergeant Cedric "The Grizzly" of the 2nd Comanseti. He was stationed on board the "Trireme" class galley _**SNS Omega**_. Omega was a fine vessel, capable of a number of roles. In equivalency to modern naval warfare, this Trireme was the equivalent of a cruiser.

Her proud mast loomed above the water, a plateau in the vast canyon of the ocean. Around her sailed 13 other triremes, 16 biremes, and 7 Quinqueremes. The Quinqueremes were the capital ships of the navy. But the most powerful ship was known solely as the "Blue Whale". The triremes measured roughly 250 feet in length, and the Quinqueremes approximately 425. The "Blue Whale" was nearly 930 feet in length. It was packed to the brim with marines. Some 2000 were deployed on her.

The Summits-Word Naval Forces (SWNF) was comprised of 49 warships total. The great majority of its ships were deployed to pursue and destroy what remained of Captain Rhubarb's fleet and landing party. This was the first real taste of combat the navy got.

So far, word was out of the box that Galanoth and what remained of the invasion force had backed off and were fleeing to land. Rhubarb's fleet got out into deeper and deeper water, though. They had some 21 ships. 9 Sloops, 2 Frigates, 4 Destroyers, a Monitor, and 5 Men of War.

Both sides were using limited cannon fire. The cannons employed by the SWNF were smaller, but employed gun cotton as a propellant. The cannons of Rhubarb's fleet used antiquated magical propellants, but used larger weapons. Rhubarbs fleet also packed an equal number of guns to the SWNF, despite having fewer ships. The fleets were matched in firepower.

The SWNF had a number of tricks up their sleeves. They had acquired 2 Comanseti divisions to act as Marines in the battle, and had a number of other weapons and devices. But Rhubarb was an experienced seaman. He knew what he was doing, and as long as he could hold the SWNF in place, he could blow them out of the water with cannon fire.

Cedric and the Omega were part of the advancing Blue group, deployed on the left flank. To their right was Green group, the center flank, where the "Blue Whale" was deployed and the greatest concentration of vessels lay. To their right was the right flank, Yellow group.

Beneath the main deck stood Cedric. The decks were very small, only 7 feet tall, and barely 4 decks below the main deck. They were a maze of hallways, with square rooms and compartments located every few feet from each other. To the sides stood 2 long parallel hallways. Down these hallways stood lines of Comanseti. They stood in perfect file down the hallway's lengths, facing the outer walls of the hull, shoulders inches apart. They seemed almost identical.

Cedric, a senior NCO (non-commissioned officer) walked up and down the line, eying each man down. A grin formed at the edges of his mouth. He walked past several lieutenants, and then finally saw the Captain. There were 3 companies aboard this ship. One was pulling watch right now, above deck. Below deck, the other two were lined up, awaiting briefing.

The Captain marched up and down the line, and then stopped at the center of the line. He placed his hands on his hips. The 4 lieutenants formed up, 2 on each of his sides. The two 1st Lieutenants formed up, one on each side of him. The 2nd Lieutenants formed up at their sides. Then came the 5 senior NCOs. The two Master Sergeants formed up at the sides of the respective 2nd Lieutenants, and the two First Sergeants lined up next to the Master Sergeants. The Chief Master Sergeant stood in front of the Captain, a few feet in front of the Captain, and about a foot to the Captain's right.

Cedric was a beefy man, of about medium high and a large build for a Valleyman, even a Valleyman in the Comanseti. He was tough and aggressive in the field. But off it, he was a quiet man, who liked to think. Almost too much. And as he stood there, he thought to himself.

"Damn… I spent all this time getting promoted. I came all this way to get the honor of being in the Captain's retinue. And here I am, standing on the very edge of the retinue. Oh well, life's imperfect."

The Chief Master Sergeant spoke, "Sir, all three platoons are ready and waiting, sir! All 90 men who stand before you request their briefing being given, sir!"

The Captain smiled, and replied, "Very well then. Attention!"

All men snapped into full attention. They kept their eyes straight forward, starring at the wall, never moving an eye muscle. Their bodies were totally rigid. But their ears were eternally focused.

"All Comanseti. I will give you a little breakdown of our situation. The enemy is cruising some 2 and a half miles ahead of us. However, conditions aren't too great over in their neck of the woods, and we should reach them within the hour. Our beloved new home at sea, the Omega, is set to target the vessel, the BNS New Mason. The operation is very important. A COIN agent stationed aboard the ship as a spy sent a report several days ago. Apparently, the agent found the Captain Rhubarb is stationed aboard the ship because he feels that the capital ships are too high profile. He wants to have a small fast vessel because he thinks that we will focus all our firepower on the 5 Man of Wars. Well, my dear friends. We are the unit set to storm his boat. We will be getting some assistance from our dear friends, the Assailants. They are members of the Old Guard, and the Captain is fairly new, only a few months on the job. I demand that each and everyone of you impart respect to them."

The line of Comanseti yelled back, "Sir, yes, sir!"

"Now, they are currently aboard the Bireme SNS Cloak and Dagger. Appropriate name. Anyhow, they will cross by performing a rope-guided vault onto the deck. This leaves us open to use the raven for our boarding."

"Ahh, the Raven." Though Cedric.

The Raven was a massive weapon mounted parallel on the mast of the ship. The Raven was a large length of steel with a spike in the shape of a bird's beak at one end. At the other was a bolt that allowed the length to drop and become perpendicular to the mast. The Raven was used in naval combat by moving alongside an enemy ship. As they got close, they removed the restraints on the raven, then letting it drop onto the deck of the warship. The spike broke through the deck and locked in place. The enemy ship was locked in place, and the Raven became a bridge for Marines to cross.

The raven was intentionally left without side rails. Comanseti were taught how to balance upon it. And when the enemy sent troops out on the raven to challenge them, them were taught how to exploit the enemies' lack of balance, and send them to the sea below.

"So, a simple breakdown. We deploy the raven immediately once we are in line with them. Once it hits the deck, we wait for the green light from our bodies, the assailants. When the shit hits the fan, and they give us the go ahead, we cross the raven, and do a classic board and storm. Wind is going to be a little rough, so try to use a spear or a javelin as a stick to help keep your balance as you cross the raven. First man across… Grizzly, you take point this one."

Cedric was happy, and responded accordingly, "Thank you sir, I'm honored."

The Captain spoke once again, "Alright, I want you all on the deck and prepared to kick ass. I want optimal alertness regardless of conditions. Now get up there, and make me proud boys!"

The Chief Master Sergeant screamed, "Move out!"

All the Comanseti turned 90 degrees, and walked single file up to the ladder at the end of the hallway. One by one, they made their way up it, onto the deck.

An hour later

Cedric had watched from the deck the massive fleet of the Battleonian Navy streaked into view. The huge masts of the proud ships towered overhead. By all means, the Biremes, Triremes, etc. were short in terms of height. This was intended merely for the purpose of becoming a smaller, more maneuverable target. Yet this feature also made Cedric somewhat uneasy, the enemy Man of Wars dwarfed their ships.

It didn't matter though. Cedric looked off to the right. He saw the "Blue Whale", the mightiest of all the vessels there. It sailed without a care in the world. 2 of the enemy Man of Wars were firing on it. There were several impacts, but it sailed forward without flinching. As the fire became more intense, the "Blue Whale" returned fire. The "Blue Whale" fired all of its main deck guns at a high trajectory.

After about 15 seconds of silence of the storm of gunfire, the projectiles rained on their target. One of the two Man of Wars, BNS Willow's Creek, was shredded as the weapons rained down on its main deck, crashing through the wood and smashing the decks as gravity tugged the cast iron balls downward. As they plummeted through the decks, they pummeled men, the cast large, deadly splinters every which way. Men died by the hundreds. The rain of iron tore the ship a new asshole. Willow Creek was out of the fight. It was barely afloat as it withdrew. For the time being, all the other ships in the fleet were dissuaded from firing on their biggest target.

Cedric looked forward, toward the bow of the ship. In front of them, he saw 5 warships. 4 of them were in a group, sailing within close proximity. But far off to the right, a single sloop floated on its own. It was the BNS New Mason.

The Omega's captain began to bark orders. "All seamen, on deck. Ready for battle. I want our sails put way, and our rigging secured! Have all rowers report to their stations! Marines, in position! I want more men to the crow's nest! Get a marksman or two up there! All naval archers and artillerymen, to the deck! I want all weapons armed and ready! Get the drummers going! Am I understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

Men began to run around, relaying and complying with the Captain's orders. Sailors began to secure the rigging, the sails, and armed the weapons. Archers and artillery crews reported to their stations.

Marksmen from the Comanseti came up to the deck, brandishing their crossbows. The Marksmen merely wore a standard issue tunic, in conjuncture with a leather breastplate. At their right hip sat a short sword, and on their left hip sat a satchel, filled with deadly crossbow bolts, and prepared clips.

Cedric squatted down with a dozen other Comanseti, crouching behind the side rail of the ship, using it as cover. A Comanseti marksman jogged across the deck to their position. He crouched behind the rail with them. It was Willie, one of two Urban Marksman assigned as a support element to the company. They weren't officially a part of the unit, but they helped greatly when the going got rough, and a handful of tough enemies were causing trouble and refuse to go down.

Cedric smile, "Hey, Willie. How you doing?"

Willie smiled back, "Couldn't be better man! Just want to fucking shoot something right now, though."

Cedric opened his mouth and chuckled, but his laughter engulfed in a low noise. He looked to the stern of the ship. There stood three men in mail armor, banging on drums with their drumsticks. The naval drummers, whose goal was to make music to scare the enemy and rally troops around them. They began to play a beat, a repetitive banging sound.

Cedric looked above the side rail. In his ears he heard the loud drumming. The drumming got faster and faster as they closed the distance between the two ships. Eventually, the drumming evolved beyond a beat. The drummers began to form a rhythm, and the drum bangs got more and varied. The drummers began to sway with the song they made. They all hit their drums at the same time, and they swayed the same way as the played. God, it was like watching mirror reflections of the same person.

The drumming was very loud at this point. Archers began to line up along the sides of the New Mason and the Omega. The Omega and New Mason drew aside each other in a parallel formation. The New Mason's deck stood about 4 feet taller than the Omega, which would give the New Mason a slight advantage during an archery standoff. A lone archer aboard the Omega stood up, with his bow strung, an arrow notched in the string. He took aim and fired his arrow at an archer on the deck of the New Mason. He fired, striking the enemy archer in the chest. The enemy leaned forward as he reeled from the blow. As he lean, he accidentally slipped on the deck, and fell forward, into the raging waters below.

At this point, the current of the sea had picked up. The water below was furious, and wanted to swallow the lives of men. The archer had been one of first victims.

Two archers aboard the New Mason retuned fire. The two arrows struck the side rails of the ship, embedding them in the wood. The archer aboard the Omega quickly fired off another arrow, which struck a sailor aboard the New Mason in the chest. The two archers aboard the New Mason fired once more. The first arrow was too high and swept over the head of the archer. The archer threw himself to the deck. The second arrow was too low, but the rail deflected it and flew straight into the archer's left eye.

The archer began to scream and curse. A marine ran over to help him, but was hit in the back with two arrows from the archers.

Cedric screamed, "Those motherfuckers! Goddamn it! Willie, take out the damn archers! You hear me?"

Willie smiled, "You got it Grizzly! Should I shoot them between the eyes or in the throat? Come on, they'll live for a while in the throat!"

Cedric yelled back, "Just goddamn kill them!"

Willie brought himself into a crouch. His crossbow was perched along the rail of the ship. He took aim at one of the archers. They had not noticed him, and he took his time getting aimed.

Willie began to narrate his own marksman ship.

"Willie began to ready his sights, toggling the strong gust of wind into the scope. The bolt was already locked into place on the string. The moment he fired, destiny would come to life. He carefully took aim right between his first target's eyes, so he'd have a great drinking story somewhere down the line. Might get him laid. Anyhow, he took a dramatic pause, to guarantee a kill…"

Private Balbus, who stood to Cedric's left, began to scream. "Willie, shut the fuck up, you fucking douche bag! Just fucking shoot them already you goddamn prick!"

Willie was out of his moment. He quickly snapped off the shot, which met its mark right between the eyes of the archer. He ducked back down to cycle his weapon, smile wiped clean off his face.

"Fuck you, Balbus! You dumbshit, I was in the moment! I was in the goddamn zone. And here you fucking are, telling me I'm a fucking-"

Cedric himself was very aggravated. He let out a furious roar, earning his nickname of Grizzly "Both of you shut the fuck up! I'm sick of this crap! Balbus, as annoying as it is, an around in eyes sounds worse, so shut the hell up and let the man do his work. Willie, if you don't zip your fucking mouth, I'll shove one of those bolts so far up your ass you'll have ballistic-fucking-trauma! Got it?"

Willie had a scared look on his face. He quickly popped back up. The second archer fired an arrow at him. It hit the side rail, snapping the iron head off. The shaft struck Balbus in his back. He screamed a number of profanities as he writhed in the agony. It wasn't fatal, but it was painful.

Willie ignored Balbus' cries in pain as he took a quick moment to aim, and took a potshot at the archer. It was a throat shot. The second archer fell on his back on the deck as he grabbed his throat.

From the stern of the ship, the Omega's Captain watched Willie's sniping escapades. He decided that an engagement was inevitable; eventually a situation like this would escalate. He was better off just starting a coordinated engagement now, before an anarchic battle came to life on its own.

He turned to his first mate.

"I want the raven lowered, now! Have the archers fire 10 salvos of arrows to soften up enemy resistance. Have carronades fire 4, have our ballista and scorpions fire 7, and have flame guns fire 2. After our weapons have launched their salvos, lower the Raven, and await further instructions. We'll wait for the Cloak and Dagger."

The captain looked down to where the marines crouched. His eyes met with Cedric's. He was amazed how deep "The Grizzly's" stare was. He looked into Cedric's eyes for a few moments, then grinned and began to nod his head approvingly. Cedric turned his cold gaze elsewhere.

The gigantic iron beast screeched as it rocked back and forth on its hinge. The slightest movement made noise. As the chains were loosened from it, the screeches grew louder and louder. It longed to sink its fang into the deck of the New Mason. It looked down upon the archers below, firing their first volley. It grew jealous and impatient as it waited for its turn to kill.

On the decks below, the archers lined up. Double straight lines formed. The men in the rear stood while the men in front crouched. They held their bows, arrows drawn. It was time.

The naval archery leader, Lt. Commander Terbor, stood at the end of the line. He watched over the New Mason's crew. Their archers lined up on the side of the ship, drawing their bows. Terbor decided to take the initiative, and launched the first strike.

"Bowmen, open fire!"

Within 4 seconds, the entire line had fired off its arrows. Several hundred projectiles flew through the air, over the sea below, and onto the deck of the New Mason. The enemy soldiers took severe punishment. Dozens of men fell to the deck, dead or wounded. Many plummeted off the deck into the sea below. As the dead and wounded began to bleed and the Omega's archers lined up a second salvo, the decks grew slippery with blood.

The first salvo had merely delayed the attack from the New Mason's archers. They were still more than capable of attacking. As both sides lined their salvo, they let fly simultaneously. The arrows from both ships drifted past each other as they flew. Arrows passing in each direction were mere inches from each other. The salvos collided, and both sides took casualties.

As the Omega's archers lined up their third salvo, there were several loud bangs. The carronades opened fire. (A carronade is a shorter, lighter version of a cannon. It still fires the same projectiles.) Their projectiles ripped into the sides of the New Mason. Splinters flew everywhere, killing and wounding men left and right.

More noises, like at of a bowstring only louder. The scorpions let fly. The massive projectile screamed through the air, impaling men as they traveled along the decks. There was a whooshing sound. Flames licked the deck from the Omega's flame gun. The fire flew through the air, catching on to men on the deck, and setting them ablaze.

The bombardment from the Omega went unsuppressed. As it deployed its weapons, the New Mason's archers were killed off. With each bombardment, there was less resistance. As the bombardments began to cease, there was another matter at hand.

The hinges on the raven began to squeak. The hook began to move slowly move forward. Each inch it moved it got faster. Soon, it began to free-fall. The raven fell in an arc, its beak crashing into the deck of the New Mason. Splinters flew everywhere. Men were impaled by flying debris, and the situation on the deck became pure panic. Sailors rushed below deck to gather weapons or take shelter. Only a handful of marines remained aboard the New Mason. There were about 40 total. They faced off against some 250 Comanseti, who were better trained, equipped, and in better shape.

The Clock and Dagger made its move. The ship began to move alongside the deck of the New Mason. The Assailants stood along the railing of the Cloak and Dagger, anxiously to cross the water and spill blood. From the rigging of the Cloak and Dagger, an Assailant threw a rope with a rock attached through a hole in the rigging of the New Mason. The rope held fast.

One by one, the Assailants jumped into the air, catching on to the rope between their ship and the New Mason, and swinging off it to land on the enemy ship's deck. The distance between Cloak and Dagger the New Mason was too great for a normal jump. By utilizing this rope to help reach the enemy deck, the Assailants were able to make it across without problem. They began to wreak havoc across the New Mason's deck, throwing explosives and slashing through dozens of enemies.

The Marine Captain screamed, "Grizzly's got point. Arc, Caecilli, give him some cover fire. McDonald, Claude, watch his back. Willie, look out for enemy sharpshooters."

Willie called back, "Got it coach! I'll send them all to watery hell!"

Cedric was unafraid as he stepped onto the raven. He had pretty good balance. As he stepped forward and began to make his way across the raven's bridge, he looked to see his opponent. It was a man of about equal size to him. He was a big, muscular man loaded with heavy steel armor. Good way to start up the day.

As Cedric inched forward, he began to call out insults. "Hey, hey! You're pretty big for a small fish! You dumb brute, bet you take a ruler to bed to see how long you've slept! You poor bastard, I'll bet the fish will have lots of sympathy for you!"

Cedric's opponent was not pleased. "You want to go, asshole! Take this!"

The man ran at Cedric. Cedric crouched behind his shield. As the man got closer, Cedric lunged, catching the man's entire chest with his shield. He swept his shield to the left, knocked the enemy over. The man lost his balance, and fell headfirst into the water, screaming the whole way down.

The second man over was nervous. His legs trembled as him moved across the raven. They gave out about a third of the way over the raven's span. He fell over the side, into the icy waters below.

The third man began to cross. Several men began to cross after him. He made his way to Cedric. Cedric had made it halfway across the raven by this point. The third man cautiously approached him. He stopped about 5 feet away from Cedric. Cedric stopped as well.

"Come on, come get me, fishy!"

The man could only reply, "Fuck you, come to me!"

Cedric didn't wait another word. He ran at the man. The man swung his sword in a horizontal strike, attempted to decapitate Cedric. Cedric ducked, and swung his shield hard in a low blow. It upswept both of the Marine's legs, and knocked him off the raven.

From the deck of the Omega, several Comanseti threw their spears at the enemy Marines on the Raven. The spears hit their targets with precision, driving them into the water. They all plummeted except for two.

Two Marines decided to hide behind their shields. The spears could not touch them. Cedric could though. He charged at them, bashing the first Marine's shield with his own. The Marine recoiled, but there was nothing to support him when he stepped back. He slipped and fell, but instinctively grabbed on to the first thing he could. His allies' armor.

He dragged his friend down with him. But the second Marine refused to go down. As he fell, he managed to grab hold of the raven. He dangled from it by his fingers. They grasped the edge of the iron bar. Below him was the extremely angry sea.

Cedric stepped above him and looked down on the man. As the man looked back up, he suddenly realized what Cedric had in mind.

"No, no, please no!" The man began to scream in terror.

Cedric showed him no mercy. He raised his mighty shield above his head, and brought down its edges on the man's fingers. Cedric heard crunching from the broken bones. He brought his shield back up, and the Marine's limp fingers slid of the raven. He screamed the whole way down.

Cedric saw no more opposition along the raven. He made a final sprint toward the end. He saw three sailors holding position at the end of the raven. All three held axes. Cedric continued sprinting, despite the looming threat.

Cedric saw a threat, and decided to neutralize it. He held his shield horizontal, and dove at the sailors. The shield hit all three, knocking them off balance. They fell on their backs on the deck. Cedric kept going, headfirst. At the last second, he brought down his shield, parallel to the deck. It hit the deck, and Cedric rolled over it. He landed on his feet and turned around to the three toppled opponents. All three had sat up.

Cedric thrust his sword into the back of the sailor in the middle, catching him by surprise. The sailor to Cedric's left turned to face him. As he attempted to stand up, the Comanseti who had crossed behind Cedric ran up and stabbed the sailor in the chest. The third sailor, to Cedric's right, was still groggy. Cedric launched a powerful kick, hitting the sailor's temple with his heel. The sailor was knocked out and hit the deck.

Normally, Cedric would finish him off, but he'd let someone else do it. He placed his shield in its normal direction, vertical. He placed it in front of him, and stood still. Other Comanseti began to form up around him. The sailors on the deck began to form a perimeter around the Comanseti.

The entire Comanseti line began to charge, lunging forward with their shields. They body slammed the soldiers in front of them, knocking them to the ground. The Comanseti began to charge their enemies, ripping through them in close combat. The Comanseti were flexible infantry, able to take on a number of roles. But they excelled at CQB (Close Quarters Battle).

Cedric ran headfirst into the fray. He swung to the left, then to the right, taking down 2 sailors. He ran forward, slashing as he went. He saw a sailor in front of him with a short sword. Cedric dove at him. The sailor leaned forward while bringing his body back to dodge the attack to his gut. He slipped and fell flat on his chest and face.

"Bloody fool…" was the last words the man ever heard. Cedric placed a foot on his back to hold him down. As the man squirmed, Cedric raised his shield above his head, and stepped back, bringing its metal rim down on the sailor's neck. It snapped like a twig.

Cedric began to slash more and more. The Comanseti were now all independent, no long moving as a joined unit. They hacked their way through the sailors, who were basically cannon fodder. As Cedric made his way across the deck, he eventually slashed his way to the other side, leaving dead or dying sailors in his wake. He saw one final sailor in his way. He charged at the sailor. He ducked as the sailor swung his ax at him. He hit the sailor in the upper torso as he ducked with the rim of his shield. The sailor fell off his feet. Cedric stood back up, and delivered the killing blow by slashing his throat.

As he reached the other side, he found the Assailants. They were more intimidating now than ever. In combat they were superb. To them, this fight was too easy. They had already killed off the surviving marines without a single casualty. Just for fun, they had put away their weapons and were now butchering the sailors with their bare hands.

As Cedric walked toward the railing, he looked out toward the main battle group. The fighting was intense. The Blue Whale was out of the fight though. The ship had a lot of damage. Not enough to sink her, but enough that she was close. A bunch of enemy ships were no longer fighting. The Blue Whale must've deployed all of her Marines.

The ship on ship engagements were insane. 3 heavily damaged Man of Wars steamed through. The ships were listing, and looked pretty damaged, but they were still going. Christ, would these things ever sink? There were quiet a few SWNF ships that had been totally fucked up by the battle, though. There didn't seem to be a winner.

Cedric came back to focus as he heard screaming behind him. He turned to a sailor running at him. He swung his shield around and held it horizontal. He bashed the sailor in the face with it, and he fell to the deck.

Cedric looked to a sailor riding a rope of the rigging, Tarzan style. He was coming right at Cedric, a kick aimed at his face. Cedric threw himself to the deck as the kick came at him. The sailor overshot, having missed his target, and slipped off the rope. He flew straight over the side and plummeted into the drink.

Cedric looked to see the sailor he had just knocked over. He was groaning. Cedric figured, what the hell? He put down his sword, picked up the sailor's ax, and drove it into the sailor's forehead.

So many dead across the deck. The deck was red with blood. Cedric was almost disgusted by it. He looked to the stern of the ship. There stood Captain Rhubarb. He was looking down on the Comanseti Captain, who was lying on the deck. He had his cutlass, ready to behead him.

Grizzly took off running toward Rhubarb. He watched as Rhubarb readied himself for the killing blow. He ran faster. He watched an Assailant attack Rhubarb by stabbing him left arm. He watched as Rhubarb kicked the Assailant in the chest sending him flying. He watched again as Rhubarb lined up for the kill.

Grizzly let out a war cry as he made his final sprint. He hit Rhubarb with his shield. Rhubarb was toppled. As Grizzly stood above Rhubarb, Rhubarb lashed out with a two-legged kick while on his back. Grizzly stumbled, and Rhubarb got back to his feet while Grizzly regained balance. Grizzly dove with his short sword, slashing Rhubarb's sword arm. Rhubarb dropped the cutlass, his execution foiled.

Grizzly inched toward Rhubarb, ready to launch his own killing blow. Rhubarb wasn't done yet. He launched a roundhouse kick, right to the side of Grizzly's head. Grizzly couldn't believe it. A kick to the head. He was hit so hard he turned around and began to stumble. He dropped his shield and his sword. They clanged on the deck as he stumbled. As he turned around, he felt a second kick. His armor caught the blow, but the energy went clean through it. The kick had hit the area between his ninth and tenth rib. The force had ruptured his liver.

Grizzly fell to the deck. Grizzly looked past his feet to see Balbus' head, and his beheaded corpse. He knew this was Rhubarb's doing. He wanted to get up and jam his dagger through Rhubarb's eye, but the pain was so great. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, and it even hurt to blink his eyes. It hurt to be alive.

Rhubarb looked down on the would-be corpse of Grizzly. As he stared at Grizzly's suffering, he felt a jab to the face. It was the Captain. The Captain launched a second kick to Rhubarb's gut. As Rhubarb kneeled over from the second hit, he was it a third time. A punch to the temple. Rhubarb felt groggy from the last hit.

The Captain finally threw two punches at the groggy Rhubarb. He looped his foot behind Rhubarb's legs. As Rhubarb recoiled from the blow, he tripped over the Captain's leg. He crashed against the side rail of the ship. As he leaned up, the Captain dove on top of him, and stabbed him with his dagger. Rhubarb's eyes shot all the way open from the pain.

The Comanseti screamed "You motherfucker! You fucking motherfucker! I'm going to fucking kill you, you stupid fucking asshole!"

He stabbed Rhubarb in the chest several more times. On the final stab, he picked up Rhubarb's cutlass from the deck. Rhubarb watched, with his eyes wide open, as the Captain drove the cutlass into his chest with both hands. The entire blade penetrating, slashing Rhubarb's open heart. The Captain watched Rhubarb exhale his final breathe before expiring…

A day later…

Cedric woke up in a bed on the ship. He looked around. He was in the Medical Ward of the Omega. At the foot of his bed, he saw the Captain, and the unmasked Assailant. The Captain leaned over toward him while the Assailant watched, not speaking a single word.

"How you doing Grizzly? Are you feeling well?"

"No sir. Everything hurts like hell. Am I going to be okay?"

The Captain had a shocked look on his face. The Assailant spoke the only words he would ever speak in the entire conversation.

"Let's be frank. The kick that Rhubarb launched was fatal. He ruptured your liver, and you are dying."

Cedric groaned. "This is it, huh? Well, ain't as bad as I thought it would be."

The Captain bit his lip. "I'm sorry to have to tell you the bad news."

Cedric grinned, "Don't be sorry. I'm glad I got an honest answer, so I know to expect it. I'm just going to have to accept it, and try to ignore the pain. Make the most of the rest of my time."

"That's why they call you Grizzly. Always fighting it out. I'm just sorry, you won't make it through this one."

"Ah, oh well. Just tell them to tell my wife and kids the usual crap. I can't really say much else aside from 'I love you so much and I'll miss you'. Just make sure they get what's in my trunk. I'd rather that the things I leave them with talk for me."

"Will do…"

"And so I know, what happened up there?"

"Well, Balbus was in trouble. Rhubarb caught him off surprise. He executed him while I tried to come to his aid, and he overpowered me. The Assailant fella here came over to try and help but Rhubarb beat him up to. So, when Rhubarb attacked you, I got back to my feet, and I stabbed him to death."

"What happened afterward? I mean, how'd the battle go?"

"Oh, we took this ship. But it's hard to say if there was a real winner."

"Get what you mean."

Cedric just lay back. As his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep. He'd need to rest; he needed a lot of energy to make the most of his last days.

_**Aftermath**_

Cedric's life expectancy after that point was 4 days. He fought hard, managing to go 8 days. They were back in port by the third day. After 4 days of travel, he managed to make it home. He spent his last day with his family. He died peacefully in his sleep.

Out of the 300 Comanseti aboard the Omega, 58 were killed, and some 123 wounded. The New Mason was captured and completely cleared. It was brought to the port in Lolosia a few days later, and refurbished to become the SNS Colt.

The full naval battle had no winner. It was considered by many to be a turning point. Neither side had won, and both realized it. The Valleymen sank all the enemy ships on their left flank except for the New Mason, which was captured.

But the center flank was messy. Every ship on the Valleyman side except the Blue Whale was sank or damaged to the point where it had to be scuttled. The Blue Whale had still suffered extensive damage. The sailors and Marines of the Valleyman Navy basically sailed home on captured enemy vessels.

The Battleonian navy had great success on their left flank (The valleymen's right flank). Just 1 ship sunk, no other ships damaged. They'd destroyed every last enemy ship on that flank. They had brought their Monitor there, and used it to bomb the center fleet after they'd wiped out the enemy's force on their flank.

However, as the battle wore on, all their ships in the center were captured, sunk, or critically damaged. They decided to call it a day, and their left flank pulled back.

However, this was not a Battleonian defeat. It was a psychological victory. Up until this point, the Valleymen had been wiping them out in every battle, winning a crushing victory every time. But here is was, a battle where they had not only taken heavy losses, but had been unable to secure victory. This was the beginning of a new phase in the war. One where Valleyman victory was not always assured…


	22. Act 3: Epilogue

Hello everyone. To anyone who's read up to this point, I thank you. It's an honor to have any readers at all. I was amazed anyone had ever read the story. Anyway, I will not be posting for a little while. The reason is that I intend to post all of Act 4 at one time. I intend to keep the plot events of Act 4 under wraps until the time comes. Thank you very much for reading, I hope to have Act 4 up soon…

_Epilogue_

Adagamefreak shook with fear. Every second in this covered wagon with those men staring at him was like hell. He felt like he wasn't alive anymore, as if he was already dead, his body just hadn't responded yet.

Adagamefreak was being sent to Valleymen POW camp for officers of the Battleonian army. He was freaked out. He'd seen what the Valleymen did to people, and if they were so barbaric on the front lines, imagine what they were behind them. He though of grim torture devices, and of torture techniques so sinister and painful that they had no name because if they had a name it could petrify a man with fear the instant he heard it.

There were a few other prisoners on the wagon. Two majors, five colonels, and three generals. All of them looked just as scared. And the two guards at the door of the wagon. They were stern faced. They looked angry and spiteful. They had enough muscle to rip the arms off a gorilla and beat him to death with them. That's what Ada hated about the Valleymen. Even the lankiest of them was buffed out.

As the cart began to slow, the dread only increased among the prisoners. The cover prevented Ada from seeing where he was, but he knew it was somewhere dreadful. As the cover on the cart opened, Ada closed his eyes. This was it…

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

"Alright, don't worry. You won't have anymore problems."

Warlic sat in his seat on one side of a round table, wearing a stern face. Around him stood numerous Guardians, all armed to the teeth. Across the table from him sat Major DeItia. DeItia was a valleymen, but he had no malicious intent. He just wanted to survive. A few weeks before, DeItia had murdered a superior officer, a Colonel, after an argument over command. DeItia was assigned to the 2nd Comanseti Division, leader of 4th Battalion, 1st Brigade. DeItia had been a fit of rage because the officer wanted to transfer him and his entire Battalion to the 1st Division.

DeItia had waited for months to see combat, and the 1st had just finished a Tour of Duty. The 4th Division had taken their place on the border, and if anyone was guaranteed to see action it was them. DeItia had demanded that he either not be transferred, or be placed in the 4th Division instead. The Colonel outright refused him and struck him for disobedience. DeItia entered a fit of rage, and stabbed the Colonel. The Colonel bled to death as DeItia fled.

The Colonel had been a brigade commander, and a popular one at that. The man was about to receive the rank of General, an offer he had refused several times in the past to remain commander of the 1st Brigade, 2nd Division. He was well respected and admired. DeItia knew there would be most likely be retribution.

"I don't know. Mr. Warlic, with all due respect, I highly doubt I'll be free regardless of where I go."

Warlic was undaunted, "You are safe here, though. No one can get you."

DeItia had a frightened look on his face, "They know where everyone is. They know where everything is. COIN has the best agents in the world. They know everything there is to know. You may not have informed me where I was before you took off that blindfold, but I know they know where this place is. And I know that they know that I know that they know where I am. And they know that you know-"

Warlic was calm, his voice deep as he cried out, "Enough! It does not matter what they know. If we can't make you safe, we can at least make you safer."

DeItia was quivering, "No where is even remotely safe. The Arcanii will come for me. They'll murder me in my bed! They'll cut me to pieces, and force me to eat my own innards. It will be terrible. And they probably know that I'm calling then out."

Warlic was not amused, and was losing patience.

"Let me say one thing to you, DeItia. Before you speak anymore. Don't waste my time. Not only is it not a good thing to waste, but also I'll throw you out to the wolves. I have a mission to attend to. Don't screw me up! So, if you have anything useful to tell me, tell it now before I let the Arcanii have their way with you. Now if you're going to cooperate, here's my first question. How high were you in terms of security clearance?"

"M-m-m-m-m-mister Warlic, I was given the same intelligence as the Colonel, sir. Where am I exactly? I can probably tell you anything about this place, once I figure out where I am."

"And why would you tell me this?"

"As a sign of good faith. That my intel is reliable."

"You're in the basement of the Guardian Tower."

"Guardian Tower has a basement?"

"Let's just assume what you know is correct from this point on is correct, hmm?"

"Yeah… well…"

DeItia stood up. He walked around the table. As he approached Warlic, a Guardian walked up to him, and placed a sword to his chest. DeItia spoke first.

"Sir, I'd like to talk to Warlic. Convey something private to him."

"Too bad. You aren't going to talk to him 'privately'. If you got something to say, goes through us first."

"Buddy, I'd like to tell him something private. Now I'd like the opportunity."

"Listen, jackass! Comanseti, or Valleyman, or Pedophile or whoever the hell you are! I'm a guardian, you piece of scum! I've been casting fireballs at Frogzards since I was three. You don't tell me shit!"

DeItia didn't say another word. He twisted his upper torso, so that the sword's tip no longer touched him. He grabbed the blade of the sword in his bare hands, and yanked it back toward him, disarming the Guardian. He launched a piston kick at the Guardian's hip, taking him down. He fell into a crouch. DeItia brought the sword over his head, ready to bring it down on the guardian. Instantly, everyone in the room except Warlic was armed. Warlic sat there, amused.

"Impressive. Everyone put down your arms. That includes you DeItia. Now tell me what you want to."

DeItia dropped the sword with a clang. The Guardian he just attacked looked like he had just seen a ghost. He grudgingly picked up the sword and sheathed it, and walked away angrily. DeItia leaned over to Warlic and whisper in his ear. After a minute of listen, Warlic's face went from a faint smile to a look of extreme anger. More than just his typical face of contempt.

"Those bastards! Those bloody bastards! How'd they know that? How could they know? I never even told anyone about that!"

"Right, but she was still around to tell the story."

"Huh, sit down! We have a lot to discuss!"

The Guardians were astounded. They watched Warlic go from contempt, to amusement, to anger, to urgency, in a matter of three minutes. This guy had to be more important than they had let on to…

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

Adagamefreak opened his eyes. He was in a field. There was incredibly green grass, flowers, and sunshine? What?

He was in the middle of a green meadow. It was rather serene. The sun was shining; the animals were playing in the fields. When Adagamefreak looked to his right, he saw the pristine ocean. Such beauty. Ada looked to his left. There were large mountains, the sun reflecting off the snow on the tops. Adagamefreak was impressed. He looked forward. Before him stood a sheep. It was so cute and fluffy. He just wanted to walk right up to it and pet it…

"Think fast!"

Adagamefreak only heard the words before someone tackled him, knocking him to the ground. He looked up at the sheep. A crossbow bolt hit it in the neck, and it fell over on its back, rolling around in agony. Adagamefreak had a sudden look of horror on his face.

"Sweet Jesus! What the fuck was that?"

He turned around. He saw… a Valleymen fort. A wooden palisade surrounded the fort and a handful of stone towers stood behind the walls. What was odd was that the towers weren't uniform; they varied in height and width, deviating from typical Valleymen engineering. Adagamefreak could not make out the size of the fort, but it definitely wasn't a small outpost.

He looked along the walls. Around strategic points along the wall stood wooden observation decks. Atop these decks was some sort of strange weapon. It seemed to be two long pieces of wood, mounted on a stand. From this distance, he could not make out the technical details, but he could tell they were lethal.

Ada heard screaming. He looked behind him to see three prone men near the walls of the fort. A fourth man was on his back, flinching. A fifth man towered above the fourth one, screaming at the top of his lungs. All five men were carrying crossbows. Adagamefreak decided to tune in on the screaming to figure out what was going on.

"Private Kolav, that was the worst shot I ever fucking saw! I told you to shoot the shoot the fucking rams! The rams! They have goddamn horns! You shot a fucking sheep you dumbass!"

"Sir, I am very sorry, sir!"

"I couldn't care less! You better learn how to fucking shoot if you want to qualify for this Corps! You do not qualify if you are a big dumb asswipe like the man you almost shot, you dick sucking piece-of-dog-crap! And you should take that as a compliment, considering your dad wasted sperm on you, you monkey nut sucking fuck up!"

"Sir, yes, sir!

"Are you fucking sure? Goddamn it private, if I hyperventilate trying to get it into your fucking skull, I will stop using words! I will instead make you the guest of honor at a damned blanket party! Hell, we could have a fucking sleep over, because I will invite over the whole company to beat your ass!"

"Sir, Hooah, Sir!"

"Good! I expect hooahs to what I say! But I think Private Muldoon may have kicked you too hard in the crotch during sparing the other day! If you've still got a pair, sound off like you should, fucker!

"SIR, HOOAH, SIR!"

"Very fucking good private! Seems like you decided to get the dick out of you mouth, and talk to me with some goddamn respect! Now, all you have to do now is learn how to shoot a fucking ram! Am I clear?"

"Sir, you fucking bet your sweet ass, sir!"

"Excuse me! I may have to have the platoon white wash your mouth with man juices! Only I get to say the fucking F-word around here! Am I fucking understood?"

"Hooah, sir!"

"Absolutely fucking high-diddly-fucking-dandy! Report to the barracks now private, before I get Medieval on your ass!"

"Sir-"

"Don't even fucking correct me! I know what fucking time period we're living in! Now shut the fuck up and go suck someone else's dick in the fucking barracks! All of you are dismissed!"

Adagamefreak watched as the four prone men stood up. All four of them lined up. In perfect unison, they ran toward the fort, and through the gate. Their movements were all exactly alike.

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

Adagamefreak was ushered into the fort soon after the incident. He had quickly found out from the guards escorting him that this was a Comanseti sniper school. The school was build above a solid rock foundation, with the surrounding area made of very soft soil. The soil had been engineered using chemicals so that digging a way in or out was impossible, and the soil would easily collapse under the weight of a siege engine, making it useless.

The weapons Ada had seen before were called "Pulley ballista". The thin pieces of wood were apparently the backbone, similar to that of a crossbow. But what was unique about this weapon was that it did not need an arc to fire. A series of cables and pulleys ran down the weapon, using the tension of the cable to fire. The weapon was fed via a magazine of heavy projectiles, which were basically steel rods about a yard in length with a sharpened tip. The magazine was fed from the bottom via a clip inserted into the bottom. To rearm after each shot, a large, ambidextrous lever was placed along side the weapon. The lever was pulled back to cock and reload the bow.

The streamlining of the weapon allowed for two weapons to be mounted parallel to each other, allowing a dual turret system. With two guns, a crew of three was required. 1 man to aim and fire the gun, and two men to reload and rearm the weapons. It required coordination, but the Pulley Ballista was absolutely fatal.

This was what finally dissuaded Adagamefreak. He had been thinking about how he would escape. But he realized now that they had placed the prisoners in a sniper school for a reason. The school had well over 600 students. Even if 90 percent shot like Kolav, there were a few dozen that could easily pick him off…

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Matt looked out the carved stone window, from the cliff overlooking the sandy beaches. Dragonclaw Island seemed like the place where he'd die. Why did it matter anymore? Chris had stripped him of dignity, and who cared if he died. His only concern now was to exact his revenge by destroying as many of Chris's soldiers as possible.

About a week prior, Matt stormed the beaches of Dragonclaw. Three Valleymen ships had anchored off the coast of Dragonclaw, and their soldiers were making trouble for the natives. When Matt got word of this, he took a battalion of soldiers, and captured the Island. He did not do it for glory, rather, he did it because he wanted to do at least something right, and do something productive during the war.

The Valleyman response was quick and brutal. A fleet of approximately 3 Triremes and 14 Biremes engaged Matt's vessels, quickly destroying them. Three brigades, one from the 2nd Comanseti Division, a second from the 3rd Comanseti Division, and a third from the 5th Comanseti Division, were quickly assembled on the mainland. If what Matt heard was correct, they had launched yesterday. They would arrive tomorrow.

As he stared out the stone window, he began to write a letter to Battleon. His last words. His letter was sent to Ricobabie. He wrote down everything he could think of. He wrote of his passion for her. Stories and tales he had heard. He wrote her best wishes. His final paragraphs were a monologue. About what he felt in his last few moments. He missed Earth, he missed the days back home where he could sit down and play videogames with his friends, and when he turned the computer or Xbox off, it all went away.

Right now, things were bad. By tomorrow, there'd be Over 9000! (OMG, Internetz reference!)… Let's try that again. There would be over 9000 enemy Comanseti storming the beaches by tomorrow. His forces number about 500 men, tops. He had two artillery pieces, both of which were scorpions. Dragonclaw apparently had several colonies of Drakel and Gattans, in addition to colonies of humans. But the Drakels and Gattans were afraid to help, fearing for their lives.

Likewise, the locals felt that things could only get worse if they help Matt's miniscule force. The only thing they'd allowed him use of was a network of underground tunnels built in the Hawk's Beak plateau. Owning the plateau may have conferred a number of advantages, like protection from artillery, a hiding spot and base of ops to launch attacks from, and high ground for artillery. But Matt's army was too small to utilize these strengths.

As he signed the letter, and sealed it in an envelope, he presented it to a messenger. He gave the messenger instructions to have the letter sent out; it didn't matter how. As the messenger ran off, a second messenger entered the room.

"Sir! Several large warships on the horizon sir!"

"Dear god! How many?"

"Four sir! They look big enough to carry about 1,500 Comanseti each, sir!"

"Their first wave?"

"That's unknown."

Matt ran to the stone window. Four huge warships on the horizon. Instantly, Matt found assuage. Those were allied vessels. Man of Wars. They sailed forward in a diamond pattern, with one vessel in front, another directly behind him, and two on the sides, about halfway of the distance between the other vessels.

As the vessels drew closer, two enemy biremes began an approach toward them on their left flank. The three Man of Wars on the left flank opened fire with a volley of broad side fire. Within seconds, the volley of cannon balls impacted with the biremes, snapping them both in two like tooth picks.

"Those aren't enemies! We've got reinforcements!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As Damani stepped off the ship, he made his way across the beach without a word. Several guardians stood at his side as he made his way to Matt. As he approached Matt, he stopped about 5 feet away from him.

"Matt, I'd like to convey the message from Warlic I was told to tell you."

Damani unfurled a tattered scroll, "'The following message is addressed to Mathew Michaelson. Matt, that was an extremely disobedient and reckless move. You were asked to use those units to protect the city of K'eld Naer. That was irresponsible. I expected better from you. Good job.'"

Matt was speechless. "What?"

"You don't what the achievement means. You drove those men off the island. This is the first time we've ever actually liberated anything they took. Don't you get it? Warlic didn't like that you disobeyed orders, but the disobedience paid off. Anyway, I came here to grant you reinforcements. You'll now have about 6,500 infantry under your command. And I'm with you."

"Well, thanks, but no thanks. Damani, I'm glad to be your friend. And that's why you should leave. We're still outnumbered, and our enemies are the Comanseti. We can't win. It's just a waste of men."

"Don't think so. I happen to have brought you a special little gift. It will take us two days to set it up, but it will be worth it."

"But they arrive tomorrow!"

"No, Matt. They arrive in three days. Chris decided to postpone the launch so that they could reequip the Comanseti with some new gear. They will show up two days late. Now, do you want the gift or not?"

"Damani, if this works, I can never thank you enough! Let's get to it!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As the Comanseti disembarked from their large transport ships, Sgt. Tafchak was in high spirits. He was a Comanseti from the 3rd Division. Things seemed pretty bright. This would be simple. Kill the 500 Battleonians, and purge the Island, just to prove a point. Then leave.

As the Comanseti advanced, they seemed confident. They were rather surprised though.

Tafchak screamed out in a playful manner, "Hey, where are idiots? I'd have expected a death charge! Where's my fucking death charge?"

"Well siree! Seems like that ape they have as a commander manage to evolve into something better than a glorified gorilla! Might even be half as smart a Sasquatch now!"

As the men around him began to laugh, they heard a whooshing sound. As they looked overhead, a gigantic rock zoomed through the sky. It began to arc, and as it descended, it fell right on top of the soldier who had just been talking. Many men began to panic. But it did not impress Tafchak.

"Well boys. So much for a clean operation. Looks like he pissed off Sasquatch, and the big ape threw a rock at him!"

As Tafchak began to speak, he heard the bushes lining the plateau above rustling. Those weren't bushes. They were camouflage.

There was a boom, then another boom. Boom after boom after boom. It was cannon fire. Lining the edges of the cliff were dozens and dozens of cannons.

The cannon balls began to descend on the Comanseti formation. Men began to drop like flies, as they were smashed like insects by the projectiles.

Tafchak crouched and raised his shield to cover his whole body. He turned his head around and called out, "Incoming!"

As he turned his head back around to look forward, he saw a cannonball screaming toward him. It slammed into his shield, splitting it (and his forearm) in two with its momentum. The cast iron ball impacted his torso, smashing his ribcage and crushing every last major organ in it. He got wasted…

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Chris sat at the end of a long table within this room. He was currently in outskirts of the city of Lolosia, at an army station just outside of the city limits.

Around Chris's table were the top ranking officers of the Valleyman army. The table was long enough to hold 15 people on each side. The lowest ranking member on either of the two sides of table was a 2-Star General.

At the far end of the table was 1-Star Admiral Loeyvas, who had been in command of the fleet that had transported the assault force to Dragon Claw.

Chris sat there, stern look on his face. "Loeyvas, what happened there? I wake up two days ago, to hear that the 9000-man task force I sent to Dragon Claw Island was repelled by what was believed to be 500 men. What happened?"

There was a long pause before Loeyvas answered.

"Sir, I did get COIN to verify some facts about the battle I was unaware of at the time, so I will tell you what I've heard from them. I say this in advance so that you'd at least understand why I cannot answer some of your questions."

Loeyvas paused, and then took a sip of water.

"To paraphrase the battle. We landed about 13 days ago, with an initial first wave of about 1000 men. We expected those 500 men to just make a final charge on us and that would be the end of it. However, when no one appeared, we were stunned. But the first wave just kept moving forward. About 10 minutes into the landing, they began an extensive bombardment on us with cannons and artillery pieces."

"Tell me, how did those get there?"

"Several days earlier, four enemy Man of Wars arrived, delivering reinforcements. Now, while anchored there for several days, they began to transport cannons off two of the Man of Wars and set them up on the plateau overlooking the beach. They also set up a number of other artillery weapons from harvested lumber, but they mainly had cannons. As for the two ships that gave up their cannons, the gunners joined the garrison on the Island, and the other two Man of Wars escorted them back to their territory safely."

"So, how many men were lost in the landings?"

"The first wave was wiped out to the man by the time the main landing force began to land. Their cannon fire took out quiet a few landing craft in addition to landed soldiers. All in all, the bombardment cost about 3000 Comanseti, and 450 sailors. We did manage to return fire from our warships late in the bombardment, but we only took out a handful of cannons."

"It cost about a brigade of men?"

"Yes sir. When we moved on land, an attack force of about 2000 caught us off guard. Already rattled by the bombardment, the men did not expect an attack force so large. And their movements. I'd never seen this level of coordination. They launched numerous attacks, all of them coordinated. The Comanseti fought them off, but they took mass casualties. At least 3 Battalions."

Loeyvas awaited a question, but when none came, he continued.

"The locals began launching ambushes. As our men scoured the Island, we pillaged a number of settlements. But as we marched from place to place, we noticed that no militias were present at the colonies. Only a handful of people were present anyway. By the third day in our campaign, raids started. They began ambushing our columns. There were a total of three ambushes. They were surprisingly well coordinated. They cost two more Battalions over the next few days."

"How many men remained by that point?"

"We had 3000. When we set up camp about six days into the campaign, we stayed in place for approximately 2 days. Outside of our camps, the enemies began burning poisonous gases. The wind carried them through our camp, and men began getting sick from the fumes. When the enemy launched a final combined attack on day nine, our men were weak. They were barely able to get out of bed. They lost the fight badly, and were slaughtered to the man."

"So you were defeated four days ago. What of the fleet?"

"My personal fleet joined the blockading fleet. We had several skirmishes with the Battleonian navy. We lost quiet a few ships, but we kept them at bay. On day eight though, the fleet gave out. 3 enemy Man of Wars with a support fleet of about 12 others ships arrived and drove us away from the Island. We showed up the next to find that our men had been slaughtered to the man. We turned back after that…"

Chris sighed, and deeply exhaled. He looked down at the table. He sat like this for about a minute.

"This shall not impede us. We will continue moving in the same direction. For now, I want the casualties to be filled in on the three divisions that took them. I want a 6th Comanseti Division commissioned if possible. I want 3 additional army divisions commissioned to handle security. We will hold the line until I give further orders."

A 4-Star General spoke up. "Sir, do we have a strategy for victory?"

"Yes, but I've told no one of it for a reason. I'm just waiting for the time to be right."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

_For the next six months, the war raged on. The Valleymen attempted no further aggression. They sat back within their own territory, licking their wounds._

_But in Battleon, things were different. The people rallied. The war seemed to have turned. Matt had become a hero. In an incredibly stunning act of humility, he had refused to accept honors, and instead credited his men and Damani for their role in the battle._

_Battleon rallied. Raids began taking place. With 6 months, Valleymen had been pushed off Gatta Island and Paxia. The Battleonians expanded their military strength, recruiting at least 70,000 Adventurers and 32,000 Guardians to help replenish losses. The official military had its size increased by 2 divisions._

_A large skirmish took place over the bridge. The Valleyman maintained control of the bridge, but with high losses. Over the next six months, there were four naval engagements. The Valleyman managed to win one of the battles, but the other three were Battleonian victories. _

_The war was at a turning point. The Valleymen's string of victories had ended._

_There was meant to be a one-week ceasefire for the holiday of Frostval. There would be peace three days before the holiday, on the day of Frostval, and for three days after. It was an event that both sides looked forward to. The Valleymen would have time to enjoy a one-week reprieve from violence and war, and for a week not have to worry about Battleonians, and be truer to their peaceful nature. For Battleon, it was a joyous event. A time to celebrate a great holiday and celebrate their current victories._

_It would be joyous indeed…_


End file.
